


Walk A Mile In My Shoes

by ScaryPaper



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Bodyswap, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Masturbation, Mental Health Issues, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, only tagged rape/non-con because of the body swap, oof so much plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:54:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 56,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23648803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScaryPaper/pseuds/ScaryPaper
Summary: Bruce wakes up at Arkham, Joker wakes up at Wayne Manor. Trapped in each other's bodies, they need to work closely together to face challenges from a ... slightly different perspective.A tale about literally walking a mile in another one's shoes.
Relationships: Joker (DCU) & Bruce Wayne, Joker (DCU)/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 322
Kudos: 529





	1. If you could see you through my eyes instead your own ego

**Author's Note:**

> I opened up a [blog on Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/thescarypaper) because I drew some art for the fanfiction and I didn't want to keep it all to myself!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note that this story is set in no specific movie, game or comic. My biggest influence is the Arkham game series, but feel free to imagine! If you have any more questions, please ask me in the comments, I'm always glad to receive feedback.
> 
> You'll find more notes at the end, but for now: Enjoy!

_If I could be you, if you could be me_   
_For just one hour, if we could find a way_   
_To get inside each other's mind_   
_If you could see you through my eyes_   
_Instead your own ego I believe you'd be_   
_I believe you'd be surprised to see_   
_That you've been blind_   
_Walk a mile in my shoes_   
_Just walk a mile in my shoes_   
_Before you abuse, criticize and accuse_   
_Then walk a mile in my shoes_

  
_~ Walk A Mile In My Shoes by Joe South  
_

The second he woke up, Bruce knew that something had gone terribly wrong.

The first thing he noticed before opening his eyes was the stench that filled the air. It smelled strongly like disinfection spray and other cleaning solutions. Beneath the surface however waited a whole accumulation of blood, vomit and various other smells of bodily fluids that couldn’t be suppressed entirely. Next, he felt the hard, cold surface that he was lying upon. His shoulder blades were uncomfortably pressing into what he suspected to be metal. The cold from the room had seeped through his thin clothing and his skin was covered in goosebumps. Harsh white light painted his eyelids a flaming red.

One thing was clear: This was not Wayne Manor.

Bruce carefully opened his eyes, raising one hand to shield them from the burning white above him. His arm stopped abruptly halfway to his face, accompanied by a loud rattle. They must’ve chained him to the metal bed; not that it would keep him for long. But who had captured him? Bruce tried to remember what had happened, but his mind was clouded.

When his eyes had finally adjusted to the artificial lighting, he scanned his surroundings as best as he could from his position, but there wasn’t much to look at. Dirty, formerly white walls, ceiling, and floor, with no windows or furniture. Just in the corner of his field of vision, Bruce could make out a small black line reaching from the bottom almost all the way up to the top. So at least the room had a door. That’s about all he needed to escape.

Suddenly, a muffled scream reached his ears, followed by deep, angry voices. Listening closely, Bruce could make out other sounds, mostly quiet conversations, and a few distant screams. Somewhere on his right he heard a hysterical laugh, sounding slightly distorted. Just where the hell had they brought him?

With a loud bang the door behind him flew open, startling Bruce. He tried to stay calm, but his heart rate was accelerating fast, pumping adrenaline through his veins. At least that would help him shake off a bit of his lasting dizziness. Had they sedated him?

“Hey, look Williams, the freak’s finally awake,” said a hoarse voice.

“Took him long enough,” answered another, quieter voice, apparently Williams’. He stepped around the metal bed, taking his place next to Bruce’s feet and crossing his arms. Williams was heavily built, had an impressive mustache and wore an … Arkham guard uniform? This wasn’t good. Just what had happened that he had been put in Arkham? Or was he dealing with corruption now?

A second person entered his view, this time a small woman in a doctor’s outfit with a tight ponytail and bright orange glasses. She seemed scared, almost frightened, as she took a small step closer to him. “I … will examine you now and assess your injuries, so that we can treat you accor-“

“I think he looks fine, doc,” interrupted the hoarse voice. The doctor glanced uncertainly at the man just behind Bruce’s head. “Mitchell, I still have to do a routine-“

“He’s. Fine.” The silence stretched uncomfortably as the woman looked down at the clipboard, then at Bruce, and back down at the board. With a resigned sigh, she shook her head and made one quick checkmark on the paper. “If he complains, I had nothing to do with it.”

“Ha, funny. As if anyone would listen to his complaints,” answered Mitchell. In fact, Bruce would love to complain. Now that the doctor had mentioned it, he could feel the scrapes and bruises all over his body. Had he been in a fight?

The doctor gave him another quick once-over. “Well, he’s survived worse, I guess.” She sounded almost apologetic. Nevertheless, it hadn’t taken a lot of persuasion from Mitchell to convince her, so Bruce wasn’t sure if he could sway her into helping him escape. He couldn’t read her name tag from his position, but he would be able to recognize her easily by her glasses. The doctor looked back once at Mitchell and Williams and then opened the door to leave. A cold breeze drifted from outside into the room and blew across his face.

Bruce’s breath caught in his throat as the realization hit him. He was not wearing his mask.

How was this possible? No-one should be able to remove his mask without knowing the code he had installed; it would not budge an inch. Could they have cut it off? If so, they must’ve had a strong and very precise tool so as not to remove half of his face in the process as well. The whole situation seemed rather surreal to Bruce. It didn’t make any sense. Maybe it was just the shock that his identity had finally been exposed after all these years, but the reactions from the three people he had since encountered were quite off from what he’d expected.

Mitchell interrupted his thoughts by moving around the bed and leaning in towards him. He wore a guard uniform like Williams but was rather small and skinny, especially compared to his companion. His face reminded Bruce of a rat, with a long, pointy nose and unkempt, brown-greyish hair. Broad sideburns framed his face and made it look even narrower.

“Careful Mitch.”

“I know, I know, I’m fine, see, I know the exact distance. I’ve seen this guy bite off another guard’s nose before, I ain’t stupid.”

Just what the hell was he talking about? Bruce got more and more confused by the second. Mitchell was looking at him with a mixture of disgust and anger. At the same time, he was trying to maintain superiority by staring straight into his eyes without blinking. Bruce didn’t back down and returned an even angrier stare.

A few quiet seconds passed, then Mitchell wrinkled up his nose and pulled back in defeat. He returned several moments later, sticking a small piece of paper in front of Bruce’s eyes. Mitchell’s face appeared next to his hand, his mouth distorted to a sly grin. “That’s all you could come up with, creep? One tiny little razor blade placed in … what, is that supposed to be a bat? Seriously, my kid could’ve done better, and he’s two-“

“Mitch, I don’t think we should talk about family-,” Williams cut in, but Mitchell simply hold up a hand and the other guard quickly closed his mouth.

“You honestly thought we wouldn’t find this? You think we’re really that stupid? Oho, just because you could get away with so many things don’t mean it’s gonna get any easier for you. It’s gonna get harder. Way harder, you hear me, ‘specially ‘cause I’m in charge here now-,” Mitchell kept talking, but Bruce didn’t listen anymore. He just stared at the little paper bat in the guard’s hand. He remembered that thing from somewhere, but he couldn’t quite make out from when or where. Bruce dug even deeper in his memories, trying to connect that origami bat to something.

And when Mitchell suddenly mentioned the name ‘Joker’ in his sheer endless tirade, it all came crashing back.

* * *

Bruce had been tracking Joker for months now. Except for the usual Joker-gang activities like smaller robberies or illegal black-market trades, the boss himself was keeping awfully quiet. Way too quiet for Bruce’s taste. Such a long silence from the clown always meant that he was planning something big. Usually with a lot of explosives and bad puns involved. But despite checking various storehouses and underground lairs he had only found a few scattered thugs and a lot of dust. It was as if Joker had simply vanished after his last breakout. He hadn’t even seen him once over all this time, and if Bruce hadn’t heard the gang members speaking about the clown, he would’ve had serious concerns about his whereabouts. Alfred kept telling him to relax and enjoy the quiet for the time being. Bruce, on the contrary, felt more on edge with every passing day.

It was during a routine patrol that Bruce finally spotted the elusive criminal. Flying over Gotham’s rooftops, he suddenly caught a movement in the corner of his eye. Landing on a nearby tall building, Bruce kept to the shadows to investigate. The movement had been just on the roof beneath him, and Bruce silently settled down to wait for further activity.

A hooded, tall figure was slowly walking from one end of the roof to the other and back as if they were patrolling. Bruce followed their line of sight but could only see the usual Gotham apartment buildings on the other side of the street. He focused again on the figure. He couldn’t make out the exact physique of them since they wore baggy, grey clothing, but Bruce recognized the slight bounce in their step and the way they positioned their feet in almost a right angle when they stopped to turn around.

Joker. He had actually managed to find him. By accident, Bruce was sure. Joker obviously didn’t want to be spotted, judging by his dull clothing. But what was the clown doing here?

While he was still trying to figure out the other man’s plan, Joker had stopped abruptly and was now standing there motionless, his back still turned towards Bruce. He tried to make himself even more invisible, drawing further back into the dark and slowing his breathing, but he suspected that Joker had already spotted him, however he had achieved that.

Even from a distance, Bruce could see his shoulders starting to tremble violently. Bruce heard a low chuckle, which quickly evolved into loud laughter that reverberated across the street. _So much for staying undercover, Joker_ , thought Bruce.

“Bats!” Joker exclaimed and turned around sprightly, pushing back his hood and revealing lush green hair, porcelain skin, and a ghastly red smile in the process. Aside from that, Bruce now also noticed a flat, small device in Joker’s hand which was emitting a low light. As the clown waited for a response from Bruce, he started twirling it between his fingers impatiently.

“C’mon now, darling, don’t be shy.” Bruce stayed put, assessing the situation. He wasn’t really prepared for an encounter with him, but apparently, Joker was neither. And now that he’d finally found him after all this time, Bruce simply couldn’t waste the opportunity. Next time they’d meet it could already be too late.

“Bats, stop it with the childish hide-and-seek! We’re all seeing those treacherous pointy ears of yours poking out! I told you not to bring your big-boy-suit to the game, it’s kinda inefficient when creeping around stalking poor clowns.” Joker made a pouty face.

Suppressing a sigh, Bruce stood up and dropped down the short distance onto the lower roof, his cape making a quiet rustling sound. He stepped a few feet forward, stopping at a safe distance from Joker and crossing his arms. “How did you know I was there?”

“Well I just told you, didn’t I?” When Bruce didn’t respond, Joker crossed his arms as well, mimicking the other one’s stance and continued, “Alright, I got bitten by a radioactive bat and developed supersonic hearing, how about that?”

Bruce took another glance at the device in the clown’s hand and identified it as a small display screen. “You installed cameras around the area.” It was a statement, not a question. Even Joker with his sometimes supernatural appearing abilities wouldn’t have been able to hear or spot him in the darkness. The display must be connected to the camera or cameras, so Joker had probably spotted him by accident as well.

Joker threw his arms up in the air, almost flinging the device off the rooftop, but he managed to catch it with a quick step back. “I thought we could finally be best bad bat-buddies, but _of course_ you had to ruin it. Again.” Pouting, he switched the display off and stuffed it into the depths of his sweater pockets.

Watching Joker’s hand closely as it slipped back out of the pocket, Bruce breathed a small sigh of relief when it had no gun in it. Noticing his reaction, Joker put one hand on his hips and raised an eyebrow mockingly. “Seriously, you are tighter wound than a two-dollar watch. Relax, honey, I left all of my fun toys at home, I know how easily you’re embarrassed.” Bruce opened his mouth to protest, but Joker wasn’t finished yet. “And before you ask and waste any of that precious breath, yes, I’ve been observing that building over there,” he pointed over his shoulder at the apartment building behind him, “for a few days. And no, I’ve been a bad criminal and haven’t prepared a new surprise for you yet, sorry Bats. So, without further ado, I’d love to get back to my devious machinations. And no peeking this time!” Joker wagged a finger at him and grinned a wide smile. “Toodle-oo!”

Before Joker could even turn around, Bruce had already grabbed the clown by the front of his sweater and pulled him back. Joker didn’t even resist but instead had a rather annoyed expression on his face. Rolling his eyes, he let out a defeated sigh. Bruce only grabbed the thick fabric harder and planted his feet on the ground. “What’s in that building?”

Joker raised one hand to look at his fingers, picking nonchalantly at the dirt under his nails. “Oh, you know, this and that …” Annoyed, Bruce pushed Joker forcibly to the ground and pressed him down with one foot. Having the air pressed out of his lungs, Joker’s laugh sounded more like a wheeze, but when he saw the expression on Bruce’s face, he quickly stifled it to a small giggle. “I’m sure you got a busy schedule, but no need to get violent hon’.” He patted the boot on his stomach lightly and Bruce increased the pressure, making Joker almost double over. “Alright, alright! I’ll tell you!” Joker panted and formed a T with his hands. “Time-out!” Bruce kept his foot firmly in place for another few seconds, then started lifting it bit by bit. “You know a wise man once said that true knowledge exists in knowing that you know nothing-“

Bruce grabbed Joker by his hood and started dragging him across the floor to the staircase. Joker was lucky that there even was a staircase, otherwise he’d just thrown him off the roof with a rope tied to his ankles. He knew he’d get nothing out of Joker tonight, and he didn’t want to waste any more time and energy on the clown. But since he was already here, he could as well put him back into Arkham.

But before he could set a foot on the steps, Bruce heard a loud ripping sound and stumbled forward due to the loss of the weight he had been dragging. He threw the slashed hood to the ground and turned around, preparing for an attack. Joker had gotten to his feet and now held a long and very sharp looking knife, throwing it from one hand in the other and back. Bruce cursed himself for being too impatient and not patting Joker down to search for any weapons.

“I’d _love_ to dance with you hot-stuff, but I think I left the stove on at home, so I _really_ should get going now,” Joker kept making up other random excuses as he walked backward getting closer to the edge. There was probably another way down at that side of the building which would provide an escape route for Joker. Bruce wouldn’t let him get that far.

Running at full speed towards him, Bruce caught up just as Joker’s hands were grabbing the sides of the ladder. Without slowing down, Bruce reached down and snatched an arm. Then, he pushed himself off the edge, yanking Joker effectively off the ladder. He heard a surprised gasp as Joker dropped the knife, and then the pair was free-falling for a short moment that seemed to last an eternity.

Adrenaline pumping through his veins, Bruce brought one arm around Joker’s waist to get a better grip and unhooked the batclaw from his utility belt in one smooth motion. As time slowed down around him, he fired the claw at the opposite building and pressed a button to reel them in.

The glass shattered in a sparkling explosion as they crashed through the window and ripped the blinds from the ceiling. Letting go of Joker, Bruce did a rolling motion to absorb the shock. After a quick shake of his head to get rid of the dizziness, he got up and focused his attention back on the clown sprawled face-down across the floor. At first, there was no movement aside from heavy breathing, but then Joker gave him a weak thumbs up. “I’m completely fine, thanks for asking,” he said in a muffled tone, his voice trembling slightly.

Sensing no immediate danger from their surroundings, Bruce grabbed the nearest rope-like thing he saw. He grabbed a desk lamp next to him, cut the cable off with a batarang and walked back to Joker. When he noticed the wire in his hand, Joker quickly tried to get up, but Bruce was already on his back, one leg pushing him down into the ground.

“Invite a girl to dinner first?” Joker shot him a flirtatious look and chuckled, but his laughter quickly turned into protests as Bruce skillfully tied his hands behind his back. Then he cut a piece from the remaining cable and, holding Joker’s kicking legs, tied his feet together as well. When he was confident that Joker wouldn’t be able to run away in the next few minutes, he dragged him over to an empty corner of the room, away from the sharp shards of glass that covered the floor.

Joker’s antics up until that point had been nothing out of the ordinary, but when Bruce started patting him down, which he should’ve done ages ago, Joker’s mood suddenly shifted from annoyed but still playful to pissed off and angry. Since he could use neither hands nor feet, Joker snapped with his teeth at Bruce’s hands as soon as they got even close to his upper half. When they weren’t, he spat insults at him or simply growled.

Resisting the urge to knock the clown unconscious, Bruce managed to complete his task and took a look at what he had gotten hold of. He had found a long knife taped to one of his legs, another three short throwing knives in the waistband of his trousers, and a gun stuffed into his back pocket. Bruce took another look at the gun and identified it as a mere toy, but he still handled it with care. You never knew how the clown had modified these things. From the deep pockets of his sweater, Bruce had pulled the display and a notepad, as well as a few little balls of paper.

When he took the notepad into his hand, Joker suddenly got very quiet. Bruce looked up and met Joker’s eyes, the acidic green almost glowing in the dark. “Don’t you dare open that,” Joker snarled.

“Why?” Bruce asked, but Joker just kept staring at him intensely. Bruce considered letting it go, but then curiosity got the better of him. This notebook could contain a great deal of useful information after all.

Without breaking eye contact, he flipped the book open. Joker turned his face away and huffed, a corner of his mouth twitching slightly. Bruce looked down … at an empty page. He opened it at the beginning and flipped through the entire notebook, but the thing was just blank. Confused, Bruce closed the book and stuffed it into his belt. “Invisible ink?” Bruce asked but didn’t expect a reply. Joker only shrugged. He’d have to analyze it further in the Batcave, he was sure that there was more going on with that notebook judging by Joker’s reaction.

Bruce then picked up the small balls of paper. He noticed that they were actually intricately folded pieces, which had probably been crushed during their fall. Bruce studied the one looking the least damaged and identified it as a small origami bat. He raised an eyebrow. They seemed rather laborious to construct, and there were thirteen of these little paper balls overall.

“Oh, stop that. I spent a lot of time on that roof and needed something to keep my hands busy,” Joker said, still sounding a little offended but already on the way of recovery to his usual upbeat self. “Y’know, I was actually looking for a sneaky way into the building the whole time,” Joker gave Bruce a mischievous smile. “Guess brute force is an answer after all.”

He pushed himself into an upward position with his elbows and craned his neck to look past Bruce. His expression quickly turned to confusion. “Uhh … did I just hit my head too hard on the floor or are you seeing that thing as well?”

Bruce had already noticed the huge contraption filling about half of the room before. It appeared to be switched off, thus he had prioritized tying Joker up. Now that that had been dealt with, Bruce stepped closer to the machinery and tried to make sense of it.

At the center stood a large pillar riddled with computer screens, measuring devices and other scientific equipment Bruce didn’t recognize immediately. The whole thing looked rather crudely thrown together, with nails sticking out and duct tape desperately trying to hold everything together. Wires of varying sizes coiled around the column like some sort of twisted tree bark, and connected the devices to two large …

“Are those bathtubs for giants?”

Bruce couldn’t have described them any better. They were, essentially, extra-large bathtubs filled with a translucent substance.

“Do they come with extra-large rubber ducks?” Joker almost squealed out of excitement.

“They’re sensory deprivation tanks,” Bruce said, more to himself than to the clown. “But what are they used for …?” Normally these tanks were used for restricted environmental stimulation therapy, or REST in short. Which was oddly fitting, due to it being able to ease different types of stress by helping the body relax. These tanks, however, were obviously used for more than simple relaxation, judging from all the scientific if rather messy looking devices.

“Well, why don’t we go ahead and test that while we’re here,” sounded Joker’s voice from the other side of the room, dripping with malice. Bruce turned around just in time to see Joker, who had somehow been able to get to his feet unnoticed, standing over a big red button.

“I’m sorry Bats, but it just screams ‘Please press here’,” Joker said as Bruce sprinted towards him, curses already flying through his head and thinking that he should’ve just hung him from the roof after all. “And you know me,” Joker’s voice fell to a whisper, “I simply can’t resist.”

The last thing Bruce remembered when he grabbed the clown’s shoulders was Joker slamming his bound hands into the button, followed by a short moment of searing pain coursing through his entire body, and then … nothing.

* * *

Bruce blinked several times to banish remaining images of the memory. So, he could finally remember what had happened before he got here, but the how, where and why were still a mystery. He had apparently blacked out or rather was knocked out by what felt like a strong electric shock. He must’ve really been out cold if they were able to take him all the way to Arkham without him waking up. The memory did give him a bit of background though, which was good. Sadly, it hadn’t helped him to come up with a plan to escape.

“He’s awfully quiet, isn’t he Williams? Ha, he’s even quieter than you, never thought I’d ever say that.”

Back in reality, Bruce slowly caught up to what Mitchell was saying, but he was still unable to make sense of it. Did they not recognize him? Unless … no, that thought was too terrifying, too absurd to even consider. But this was Gotham after all, absurd was the norm in this city. But this, no, this simply couldn’t happen. It couldn’t.

Trying to suppress his rising panic with distraction, Bruce looked around the room to search for an escape opportunity. That’s when his eyes fell again on the small origami bat in Mitchell’s hand, and suddenly everything became clear. Time seemed to stop as the realization finally hit Bruce.

He had not taken any paper figures with him. He had left the knives on a table next to him but had left the bats scattered across the floor where he had originally dropped them. He had taken the notebook, but not a single origami figure. _Not one._ And the only other person who could’ve was …

“Hey clown, are you fuckin’ listening? What, did the Bat finally snap and cut off your tongue? I know what you’re doing, you piece of shit, not talkin’ to me and all, but that’s not gonna work on me. Nah, I won’t try to hit you, and I want to real bad, just so you know, but I’ve seen what happens then. Nope, I’m too clever for you, you hear me? I’m-”

Mitchell’s voice drowned in the one thought that passed over and over through Bruce’s mind.

_This was not possible. This simply was not possible._

Bruce had not paid any attention to it before, he had been too distracted by the fact that he was in chains. Now he raised his hand once again as high as he could. When it entered his field of vision, Bruce’s breath got stuck in his throat.

“No …,” he whispered, but the voice he heard was not his own. And the hand he had raised was a pale white as if someone had sucked all the blood out of him. That’s what Bruce at least wished had happened because it would still be a more logical explanation than what he suspected had actually taken place when he and the Joker had fainted.

Joker. Whose body he now inhabited. They had stuck Bruce, thinking they had caught the clown, into Arkham. And if he was Joker, then Joker was possibly … him. And that meant his nemesis was at Wayne Manor, or even worse, had already discovered the Batcave and therefore his true identity. But what bothered him even more than that was …

_Alfred._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost would've named this piece "Me And My Shadow", after the amazing song written by Frank Sinatra and Sammy Davis Jr. because I love that song. In my imagination, Frank Sinatra has always been one of Joker's favorite artists, so obviously the new Joker movie made me very happy (go watch it if you haven't yet, it's truly a masterpiece)! But alas, when I came across [Joe South's song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ofhw0lWpVZc), the beginning just hit me like a ton of bricks with how perfectly it fit to my story.  
> I hope you liked the first chapter! The second one just needs some polishing, and the third one is already in the works. I'm a slow writer, and I'm still going to university, so I apologize for long periods of silence, I'll try to upload at least once a month. But know that I love this pairing too much to ever give up on them! And oh boy, do I have a lot in store for these two goofs.  
> I had originally started writing a Batjokes fanfiction without any body swaps. A few months ago, I came across an old sketch of mine where I had drawn a short comic scene between Batman and Joker, both of them wearing each other's outfits. And I thought to myself: "Huh, that could actually be pretty interesting!" So yeah, I hope you're down for the concept, because I sure am. Expect a lot of unusual situations!  
> I'm not a native speaker, and I'd like to apologize for any mistakes made. If you want to be even more awesome than you already are and become a Beta Reader (or just feel like chatting), feel free to send me a mail to paperscary@gmail.com , because sadly PMs are not a thing on AO3.  
> To conclude this first chapter, I'd love to thank all of you for reading. You're all amazing people! Leaving a comment or kudos sadly won't give me a cookie, but it sure feels like receiving one! All it does is keeping me motivated to write more and faster, sooo it's a win-win for everyone, right?  
> Stay safe and healthy everyone! Cheers!


	2. They might be crazy, but they is my family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My goodness, I hadn't expected such positive feedback. I get the stupidest grin on my face each time I check the comment section, you guys are the best. My deepest gratitude for everyone who checks this story out, kudos, bookmarks, subscribes. All that nice stuff. It really means a lot to me and keeps me motivated in everything I do. Sending virtual hugs to all of you!
> 
> Also, did I say I'd upload once a month? Whoops. 
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> [chapter title: [Family](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oNtnALcr5JI) by Mother Mother]

“Ah, so you’re finally awake. And here I almost thought that Gotham’s finest would be able to have a good night’s rest for once.”

Joker mumbled a muffled “Fuck off” into the pillow and wrapped himself further into the soft satin blanket. He pressed his eyes tighter together and just wished that the annoying voice would simply vanish. This was the first nice dream he’d had in … ages, probably. He couldn’t even remember what the last good one had been about.

“Excuse me, sir? My ears are rather good for my old age, but not _that_ good.”

Joker groaned and turned his head to the side, so that his mouth wasn’t stuffed with fabric the next time he opened it. “I said: Fuck. _Off_.” The voice didn’t reply this time. Instead, Joker heard a small sigh, followed by footsteps, and lastly a heavy door opening and closing.

Well, that had been an awfully realistic way for an imaginary voice to exit his dream. The comfortable bed underneath him also felt rather authentic. He relished the warmth that softly embraced him, and the scent that caressed his olfactory receptors every time he moved the fabric surrounding him. In Joker’s opinion that was the best thing of all: It smelled like the air before a thunderstorm and leather, with a hidden sweet note that Joker couldn’t quite identify. It smelled like Gotham and then it smelled even better than that.

Alright, this was getting weirder by the second. Joker didn’t think that it was possible for him to imagine such a pleasant scenario, neither in a dream nor while awake. Huh, maybe the docs at Arkham had finally tested the good stuff on him.

Dreading the end of the dream, Joker hesitantly pinched himself in the arm. When nothing changed, he pinched himself even harder, almost drawing blood. But it all stayed the same, except for the lingering pain in his arm now.

So, either the Asylum had had a drastic change in staff and interior furnishing, or they had brought him to a nice place for a change. It could still be a trap of course, to give him a false sense of safety. Joker chose not to care about that though for the moment, but rather to enjoy the amenities as long as they lasted.

After a few minutes had passed without anything else happening, Joker decided that he could at least explore his surroundings, since he was already awake. And with a long, gratifying stretch that made his muscles tremble, he sat up and opened his eyes to a sparse, yet tastefully furnished bedroom.

The satin sheets which still engulfed him had the color of wet asphalt, which was a slightly lighter colour than the bed itself. Aside from that, the only other piece of furniture was a small, black nightstand with a lamp and a few books on top. Dark green walls framed the room, giving it a calm, yet powerful character, and big fern-like plants with the occasional colourful flower loosened everything up. Warm light from an evening sun flooded the room, throwing long shadows across the floor.

Joker picked up the book that lay on top of the nightstand, and then the next one, and the next one, scattering them carelessly across the bed. All were either about management, finances or other boring stuff Joker didn’t care about. Whoever had brought him here obviously didn’t know him very well.

Flinging back the blanket, Joker swung his legs out of bed and stood up in one smooth motion. He glanced at the big double door that the male voice had left through. It was apparently leading out of the bedroom, but he decided to try the other, smaller door first.

It opened into a spacious bathroom, equipped with black tiles and bronze pipes running along the walls, creating a stylish rustic look. A huge shower filled almost half of the room, and the bathtub wasn’t too shabby either. Several different shampoos and other cosmetics were lined up inside the shower. Joker thought he could at least have a quick shower if he was already here. And test out all the shampoos to see which one would make the best foam hairdo.

He stepped further into the room; that’s when he caught sight of a movement to his right side, and he turned his head reflexively.

It had been a mirror, but what he saw in the mirror was not possible. He raised a hand and put it on his cheek, feeling the smooth skin and the scratchy stubble on his chin. The person in the mirror did the same.

“Huh, the anti-aging cream I applied promised a bit of a different outcome” Joker commented, but it was a voice he didn’t recognize. He hadn’t noticed it earlier because he had still been half-asleep, but this voice sounded deeper than his own.

What he did recognize though was the face in the mirror. He never really cared about memorizing names, hell, he never even remembered the names of his own henchmen, but this one he knew. How could he not, everyone knew that name. It was the face of countless magazines, tabloids and billboards, a face basically plastering the streets of Gotham. A face that Joker now wore: Bruce Wayne.

Bruce Wayne: billionaire, playboy and philanthropist.

“So, the Clown Prince of Crime transforms into Gotham’s Golden Bachelor,” Joker whispered and moved closer to the mirror to study the shining blue eyes staring back at him. “Sounds like the plot of every teenage romance novel. Ridiculous.” Joker grinned, but quickly let his mouth corners fall back down. It didn’t look right on this face, and it didn’t _feel_ right. Instead, he settled for a crooked smile.

After analyzing that from several different angles, Joker nodded, pleased with the way it looked. What he wasn’t satisfied with were his clothes though. They clung uncomfortably to his skin; he probably had been sweating a lot while asleep. And the colors were … well, there were no colors for once, just plain black.

With a disappointed shake of his head at Wayne’s choice of clothing, Joker made short work of the shirt and quickly pulled it over his head. He was about to take off the trousers as well, when he glanced at Wayne’s body in the mirror. His eyes widened for a second, and the smirk on his face grew wider, turning into a real smile this time.

“Jeez Brucie … you certainly didn’t skip leg day. Or any other workout day, really.”

Joker put one finger on Wayne’s chest, and pushed lightly into the muscle. It felt tough, but still flexible, like a steak that was cooked just right. Thinking about steaks made Joker realize just how hungry he was, but he pushed that thought aside for now.

He was intrigued by Wayne’s body. He really deserved the title playboy, that much was sure. But that wasn’t Joker’s priority, although he surely wasn’t appalled by the perfect skin. He slowly followed the lines of Wayne’s muscles with the tip of his finger, sending light shivers through his body when he got close to the ribs. _There._ Joker stopped his hand right above a rib. It was very delicate, but he could make out a small depression in the skin. A scar. He followed the thin line to the center of his stomach, where it crossed another one. This one was shorter, more like a point than a line.

Using both of his hands now, Joker slowly examined Wayne’s top half inch by inch, and found even more scars, some so light he could only guess if there even was one. “Someone’s been a naughty boy, hmm?” Joker breathed, circling a bigger, round scar right above his waistband with his fingers. His breathing hitched slightly when he imagined letting his hand wander just a tiny bit lower, but another thought stopped him.

He knew that particular structure of scar tissue. Unconsciously his other hand went to his side. On his own body, he had a similar scar there, but it was much more prominent. It was a bullet wound, no doubt. And the other, long lines were caused by a sharp object, probably a knife. He suspected that they weren’t as obvious as his own scars due to the way Wayne had treated them. Knowing Wayne’s funds, he was surprised that he hadn’t simply gone to a plastic surgeon. On the other hand, if someone were to find out about all of these, Wayne would probably have a much more pressing issue than a few faint scars he could hide easily.

“But that’s just the question, right?” Joker asked the empty room, raising an eyebrow inquisitively. “How _did_ you get all of these beautiful scars?” Maybe there was more to Bruce Wayne than he had guessed. Maybe he wasn’t dreadfully boring after all.

And when Joker realized that, he made a decision. He would play the game for now, until he could figure out the origin of these scars. Or until someone discovered that he wasn’t the actual Bruce Wayne, which, he had to admit, would probably happen sooner than the first option. But hey, no harm in trying, right?

He let out an exasperated sigh. Apparently his first action as Bruce Wayne would be to apologize to whomever he had told to kindly fuck off.

* * *

****

They had strapped him to another table that could be tilted vertically and moved around. During the process he had been uncuffed, with only Williams holding his arms. It had been a risky situation and all three of them had known it. Mitchell’s eyes had darted back and forth between his captive’s face and his task, which was tying up Bruce’s legs. The straps pressed uncomfortably into his flesh now, Mitchell had fixed them firmer than necessary.

Bruce knew he could’ve used that situation to his advantage, but he was caught in a haze. His thoughts weren’t as sharp as usual, and he just couldn’t bring himself to fight back. He had let the two guards handle him without any protest or comment. He hadn’t wanted to hear that voice.

But he hadn’t looked away either when Mitchell had put his white, bloodless hands into the clasps on each side of the table. He had just let the image wash over him, unable to process it.

“He’s definitely planning something, I can feel it. C’mon Williams, I’m not going crazy, right?” Mitchell whispered to his quiet counterpart, who answered with a grunt and continued pushing the table forward. Apparently, that was as much approval as the other guard needed, because he stopped muttering to himself and instead settled with staring at Bruce while walking beside him.

Bruce, who had tried to concentrate on Mitchell’s endless chatter, was now left alone with his thoughts. He could feel the panic rising in his brain, like a black cloud of smoke that suffocated every other coherent thought. For a second, Bruce wanted to give in to that feeling. This, all of this, was so unexpected, so sudden, that even he wasn’t sure he’d be able to deal with it.

But before Bruce could slip away further, Mitchell suddenly reappeared in his field of vision, a sneer on his face. “You gave up, didn’t you?”

Bruce blinked, bringing his eyes back into focus.

The guard leaned forward, closer than before. He could see Williams slightly changing his walk, ready to step in should Bruce try anything. A sharp peppermint-smell hit his face when Mitchell continued talking. “Something happened. Either the Bat did something to you, or someone else managed to break you … and you just gave up.” Mitchell let out a small, incredulous laugh.

Bruce suddenly had the air pressed out of his lungs and he strained against his bonds, as his body reflexively doubled up. Mitchell slowly pulled back the fist he had slammed into Bruce’s stomach seconds ago. Bruce coughed, trying to catch his breath. “What about now?” the rat-faced man asked, as he smoothed back disarranged strands of his hair.

Bruce didn’t answer, but the adrenaline from the punch had at least cleared his head a bit. He could still feel the panic just lurking beneath the surface, but he concentrated on the pain and the question Mitchell had asked earlier. Had he really given up?

“Hmpf. I thought so. Well, that’s kind of disappointing, isn’t it? I’m finally the warden of the infamous Clown Prince of Crime, and he turns out to be a fuckin’ loser.”

“Mitch, could you stop giving the prisoner a pep talk?” Williams had decided to step in eventually, still pushing the table towards their destination, but now with a brow raised in annoyance.

“Well, yeah, but … it’s true isn’t it?” Mitchell put his hands to his sides like a small kid that had just been put in its place but remained defiant.

As the guards continued their bickering, Bruce took a deep, calming breath. No, he hadn’t given up yet. Even if he had been stripped of his mask, his suit, his whole body even, he still remained Batman at the core, no matter what. This was something he had never had to deal with, however. It was a completely irrational, almost supernatural occurrence. But Bruce refused to give in to despair. There had to be a scientific explanation behind this, however crazy it might be. This was at least what he hoped, and that hope was the only thing he could cling onto right now. As well as the hope that _this_ \- he looked at his pale hands that had turned into clenched fists - this was reversible.

They turned around another corner, and then it all happened very fast. Mitchell suddenly wasn’t at his side anymore, but was pulled back roughly, a baton pressing at his throat. Bruce could see his eyes widen in shock. As he tried to fend his attacker off with his own baton, another figure stepped out of the shadows, grabbing Mitchell’s hand and twisting it. The guard cried out in pain and the weapon fell on the floor with a loud clank that echoed through the hall.

Williams rushed past Bruce to help his partner, a heavy nightstick in his hand that he had pulled from his belt. He took a swing at the attacker that had no weapon and almost hit him across the chest, but the guy could dodge it by a hair’s breadth. He started to let out a mocking remark, but the words were knocked out of him when Williams followed up with a, for his size, surprisingly quick swiping attack with one of his legs. The other guy lost his balance and fell on his back, arms desperately waving through the air. Williams kicked him in the head hard to ensure he stayed down and whirled around to help Mitchell.

The other attacker had retreated further down the hall, dragging his captive with him. Mitchell didn’t look too good; his face had turned a bright red, and his hands only lightly patted at the baton still crushing his windpipe. Williams rushed towards them, ready to strike again.

Bruce could already see the second guy going down. But then he watched him dropping the half unconscious guard to the ground to pull another, smaller weapon out of one of his pockets. Williams was probably too focused on his own attack to notice, and for a short moment Bruce was about to call out to him. He had already opened his mouth, but stopped himself. This could be his chance to escape. But if it was a gun-

Bruce heard a small popping sound. Williams’ approach was stopped abruptly, and he sunk to the floor, muscles twitching violently. Bruce closed his mouth again and watched silently as Williams’ spasms slowly subsided. A wave of relief washed over him; it hadn’t been a gun after all, just a taser.

The attacker returned the weapons to his own belt, stepped over William’s body and picked up the nightstick from the floor. Bruce was now able to get a better look at him since the fight was over: He wore the classic bright orange suit that identified him and his partner as inmates of the Asylum. The man had a similar built to his – well, his former body; muscular, but not too bulky. His features were sharp, a trimmed, black beard framing his strong chin. But despite this first appearance he now seemed old. Deep wrinkles were embedded in his skin, and as soon as the fight had subsided, his back had bent as if his original strength had suddenly left him.

Still, his grey eyes remained vigilant as he stepped towards Mitchell, who had managed to get back on one knee and was breathing heavily. It was clear that the guard was in no condition to fight, but to Bruce’s horror the black-haired man kicked Mitchell back down onto the ground. And kicked him a second time. And a third time. And-

“Stop!” Bruce cried out instinctively.

The other man’s foot stopped in mid-air, and his head turned towards Bruce. He studied him for a few seconds, and Bruce wondered if he had just blown up his entire cover and therefore escape plan with one word. But then one of his mouth corners slightly turned upward, and he let his foot sink back to the floor.

“Boss!” the man called out to him. Bruce knew almost every member of Joker’s gang, and he quickly went through the mug shots stored in his brain. It didn’t take long for him to remember the other man’s name though: Isaac Webber. He had been in the military for a few years, went MIA and then reappeared around the same time as Joker’s first gig, but as a member of Bane‘s gang. A few months later, Webber had vanished again, and Bruce had all but forgotten about him, until he suddenly emerged as one of Joker’s thugs in a rather high position. If one could even talk about an order in Joker’s gang. Bruce had never been able to determine the cause of that sudden change of loyalty, but he suspected that it had been a major trust break with Bane. Considering Webber’s military background, it was very unusual that he would join such a chaotic organisation such as Joker’s.

Bruce watched cautiously as Webber approached him, when a weird sense of security suddenly overcame him. He had just seen this man beat another one almost to death, but he still couldn’t prevent his tense body from relaxing. He knew, _somehow_ , that he could trust this man. The thought was like a faint memory. Like when he woke from a deep slumber, the remnants of a dream still lingering but unable to remember a clear image.

A grin started forming on his face, feeling as natural as taking the next breath. This was less like a memory, but rather like a reflex. Bruce let it happen. It felt appropriate regarding his current appearance, so he decided to let that instinct take this situation over for now. He felt he was in control of these new sensations, but he still didn’t like it. Did the process of transferring his mind into Joker’s body have side effects?

Bruce pushed those questions aside for later. For now, he was actually relieved about this new development; he would’ve had a hard time portraying Joker correctly otherwise. Surely, he had studied Joker’s words, body language and actions for years, but he never thought that he’d have to act them out. He also didn’t know the true relationship between Joker and Webber. He wouldn’t turn this additional help away though, at least until his cover blew up.

So, he’d have to fool Webber as best as possible that he was indeed his boss.

“Doc!” Bruce called back, remembering Webber’s gang name at the last second. He let his smile grow even wider.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Webber pointed over his shoulder at the bloody heap on the floor. Mitchell groaned quietly, holding his side where the other man had kicked him, but had apparently made the wise decision to stay down. “Went a little over-board with that one, didn’t I?” Webber shot Mitchell an apologetic look. “I thought there’d be more folks watching you, boss. It’s a bit weird, now that I think about it.”

“Maybe they got tired of me always causing such a ruckus?” Bruce was tired of it at least. Almost each time he had brought the clown in, a riot had followed shortly afterwards, which was just exhausting for everyone.

“Sort of like an undercover mission, huh?” Webber crossed his arms and smirked. “Hah, trying to hide that information from me worked out just perfectly for them, didn’t it? How long did it take me this time? Under 24 hours? That’s gotta be a new record, boss!” Information travelled fast in the Asylum, but for Webber to find him in under a day, especially considering that the staff had tried to keep it secret this time, was indeed impressive. Or maybe it just showed how good the Asylum’s security really was.

“But enough about me. Where’s that damn key …” Webber quickly walked back over to Williams, reached into one of his pockets and pulled out a set of keys. It took him a few seconds to identify the correct one, but then Bruce could hear four small clicks as the locks on the clasps were opened. Bruce pulled his hands and legs out of the straps and stepped onto the ground. He still felt a bit dizzy from the sedatives they had given him, but he noticed with relief that he had no problem standing.

“You doing alright there, boss?” asked Webber. Bruce was about to answer with a bad pun, when his view fell on Mitchell. The guard had managed to drag himself further down the floor and had almost reached the next corner, no doubt to call for reinforcements or to set off an alarm. Even if Mitchell surely wasn’t a very noble person judging from their previous one-sided conversations, Bruce still had to respect the other man’s determination.

 _Sorry_ , thought Bruce, as he knocked Mitchell unconscious with a swift kick to the head, trying to do the least damage as possible. He didn’t know if any other prisoners besides Webber and the other inmate had escaped, but he hoped that would at least give them a bit of a head start before all hell went loose in Arkham.

He turned around to Webber, a crooked smile on his face. “All’s well now, thanks for checking on me Doc.”

Webber nodded in approval as Bruce walked past him, looking around the corner to check for more guards or cameras, but breathed a relieved sigh when he found that the floor was in fact empty. For now. They had had immense luck that no guards had walked by and heard the fight, but they really should get going. Bruce had stored Arkham’s layout inside his mind and could memorize several escape routes. He was sure that the clown knew a lot more, but he hoped that they were in a part of the Asylum where he was also acquainted with a secure route.

He noticed a small sign on a double door next to him that read “MSCB-2”, short for Maximum Security Cell Block 2. Since he had woken up in an empty cell, he concluded that they were in the Isolation Cell Block in the Penitentiary of the Asylum. Good, he knew an exit here. It had been sealed off a few months ago, but thankfully he had been able to open it again without the authorities being none the wiser for it. He then had secured it with his own locking mechanism and password, giving him a way out should things not go his way.

The only problem was that it was two floors down, in the basement. He knew a convenient shortcut through the ventilation system, but without any of his gear he wouldn’t be able to take that path. So, he’d have to use the stairs, like any other human being. Including guards and other Arkham staff. It would be risky, but it was their only chance.

He waved for Webber to follow him down the corridor. It took them a few strained minutes to reach the staircase, during which Bruce listened closely to any footsteps, but the only thing that sounded through the halls were the usual sounds from the inmates.

“We should’ve hidden the guards,” whispered Webber behind him as they walked down the stairs. Bruce simply shook his head; it would’ve taken too much time, and they could’ve easily been discovered by a patrol.

“Poor Johnny. The other guy that was with me, y’know. Well, actually, you don’t, he’s the new kid in the gang,” Webber continued talking quietly. Bruce wished he would shut up, so that he could concentrate on listening. On the other hand, he now looked like Joker, and normally the clown would be the one to babble on in this kind of situation, so he let Webber take over that role.

“Only been part of the family since this morning, met him when he was about to pick a fight during breakfast, with Two-Face of all people! Dent had told him to get out of his face, and guess what he answered.” Webber paused expectantly. Bruce had only listened with one ear, more concerned about them not being spotted on the wide-open staircase. They had now reached the first floor and were on their way down to the basement.

Webber continued delivering his punchline when he didn’t receive an answer from Bruce anyway. “’Which one?’ he asked!” Webber chuckled. “Right in the big guy’s face, well, _faces_ , without anyone backing him up. Hah, reminds me of you actually. Well, long story short, Harvey almost beat the poor kid to death right there, but I managed to defuse the situation and recruit him. Shame we had to leave him like that.”

Bruce nodded absently. He suddenly pulled Webber down with him behind the railing when he spotted two guards walking towards the entry to the stairs. He held his breath, hoping that they would turn. And to his relief they did, footsteps becoming quieter again.

They had now reached the basement, and it would take them only one or two minutes more to reach Bruce’s escape route. They’d been lucky that no one had sounded the alarm yet, or the building would be swarming with guards.

“Say boss, you’re awfully quiet today.”

 _Here we go_ , thought Bruce. _Well, excuse me, but I’ve been a bit too busy escaping for small talk._

Bruce looked back at Webber and gave him an apologetic look. “To be honest with you Doc, I lied about feeling fine. I’m … not quite feeling myself today.” He allowed himself an honest small laugh at that little inside joke. It came out sounding more like a high giggle than his usual low chuckle, reminding him once more of his appearance and taking away the small humor he had found in the situation.

“Yeah, I figured as much. You haven’t been for quite a while now,” Webber answered quietly, more to himself than in response to Bruce. That piqued his interest. Joker had behaved oddly before this whole incident? Could there be a connection?

He’d have to question Webber later on that topic, because they had finally reached their exit. And just in time, because as soon as they stepped into the dark room, sirens went off on the floor behind them. Blinking red lights illuminated their destination through the door: a laundry room, filled with white blankets and orange jumpsuits.

Bruce spotted a normal-looking shirt and a pair of trousers hanging from a hook and quickly grabbed them. There was no time to change now, so he simply stuffed them down his jumpsuit, hoping that they’d be not too much of a hindrance on the way.

Webber shot him a questioning look. The room appeared to be a dead end, but Bruce knew better. He stepped closer to the brick wall that was farthest away from the entrance and started counting the stones. It didn’t take him long to identify the correct ones, and after pressing them in a specific order, the wall started moving, stone scraping over stone.

“How-,” Webber looked at him in amazement.

Bruce wiggled his fingers. “I’m a wizard,” he answered, unable to resist the temptation.

Webber rolled his eyes at that. He shook his head, a small smile on his lips. “Even after all this time, you still surprise me. I thought they had closed off that route for sure!”

Bruce shrugged, “Well, good for us that they didn’t, right?”

He sighed internally as he stepped into the abandoned passageway that had just opened. _Well, now I must close this off for real._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, let me tell you a little something about Isaac Webber. When I wrote him, I was playing the KFC game, and I simply couldn't get the image of the Colonel out of my head. So yes, Doc was inspired by the KFC dude. I- ... I have no excuse, that's just how my brain decided to portray him in my head. Well, at least I mentioned it in the endnotes, so now at least you had a KFC-free chapter.  
> Cheers!
> 
> P.S. I sent this story to my best friend, and for some reason, she decided to read the whole thing to me. I cannot describe how much fun I had, you're incredible!


	3. I didn’t realize that you were laughing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all are truly amazing!
> 
> I opened up a [blog on Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/thescarypaper) because I drew some art for the fanfiction and I didn't want to keep it all to myself!  
> It's just Doc for now, I'll be sure to add new ones should I have time! :)
> 
> Also, belated happy 80th birthday to the Clown Prince of Crime! You crazy old man. :D
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> [chapter title: [Laughing](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UTHd_AEGJS0) by The Guess Who]

Joker stepped out into the hallway, dressed in a dark blue turtleneck and black jeans with small yellow ornaments sewed onto the pockets; they had been the most colorful clothing Joker had been able to find in Wayne’s sparse wardrobe.

He looked up and down the corridor, but there was no trace of the owner of the voice that he had heard when he had woken up. He was about to call out but stopped. He couldn’t just scream “Hey, whatever your name is, I want to say sorry for telling you to fuck off!” through the entire Manor, could he. He remembered seeing an old man often standing next to Wayne in the pictures, but he couldn’t remember the man’s name, however hard he thought about it. Probably something like James. Jeeves. Jacob? No, no, that wasn’t it.

Joker decided to go on a little reconnaissance mission. If he was lucky, he’d maybe find a clue, like a diary or a notebook that had the owner’s name in it. Not knowing where to start with his exploration, Joker let his instinct guide him through the huge building.

Along the way, he took in the lavish interior design of the Manor. He was more of a blinking neon lights person, but he was still impressed by the elegant environment that somehow managed to radiate a cozy warmth. Joker let one hand wander across the rough wallpaper, skipping over pictures of people and landscapes he didn’t know. At the same time though, these halls felt vaguely familiar, as if he’d walked through them in a dream before.

He took a left turn and suddenly stood amidst bookshelves two stories high. A combination of grassy notes and a hint of vanilla over an underlying mustiness filled the entire room. It was an old, powerful scent, representative of the words that filled all these books.

Something told him that he had reached his goal. He suddenly felt that sensation of familiarity come back, stronger than before. The smell of books, the fading light from the sun, the silence all around him. Joker instinctively took a deep breath as his eyelids fluttered shut. Taking another mouthful of air, he could feel his usually erratic thoughts rushing through his head gradually fade away. They were still there, but it felt as if he had actively stepped away from them, like watching traffic pass by instead of dodging the cars on the road.

A deep calm settled inside his mind, something he had never felt before. It felt good.

Joker could sense his body starting to move and he let it happen, trying his best not to break this trance-like state he was in. He was on autopilot now, moving around the room as if he’d been here a thousand times before. And Wayne had been, Joker thought. Was this what Wayne usually did in this room? How weird.

He noticed his arm slowly lifting. Then his hand grabbed something smooth and thin, probably a small book, and pulled it towards him. He could hear a slight clicking sound, which surprised him. Joker almost opened his eyes again to see what kind of mechanism he had just activated, but his hand wasn’t done moving. Another book was pulled halfway out of the bookshelf, and another one. Three more followed, one he had to stand up on his tiptoes to reach and one he had to crouch down for. Then the process reversed itself, and he started pushing the books back in their place.

Finally, his body stood still, and his thoughts came crashing back down on him like a tsunami. Unprepared, Joker felt dizzy at the onslaught and quickly shook his head to get rid of it. What a weird thing he had just experienced. Well, certainly not the weirdest thing, as he looked at his strong hands that had been acting all on their own just moments before. “Seems like this new body did come with a few extras after all,” Joker smirked. “Now to see what exactly Brucie-boy’s been hiding with this ridiculous mechanism-,” he continued, expecting to go on a treasure hunt for a small compartment that probably hid away all the dirty secrets a playboy millionaire had.

Instead, he was greeted with a complete secret doorway, which led to a set of doors. Joker excitedly put his hands over his mouth and stepped into the dark. He noticed a small pad on the wall next to him and pressed his hand against it without hesitation. A green light scanned his hand, and after emitting a few futuristic beeps the doors opened silently, leading inside an elevator.

“That’s one huge secret you got there, Brucie,” Joker whispered in awe as he stepped into the elevator. There was only one unlabeled button on the otherwise empty walls. The clown pressed it, and the elevator started its descent.

Joker started humming a melody, mimicking elevator music. He didn’t get far though, as only seconds later the doors opened again into blackness, and a cold rush of air blew in. He didn’t know how far below the surface he was now. It had been a short ride, but he had felt quite the pressure on his feet as the elevator slowed down quickly.

But this was not the time to think about physics! With a confident stride, Joker stepped out of the elevator into the damp darkness. After a few seconds, automatic lights flickered to life and lit up the scenery.

The first thing that burned itself into his memory was the huge wall of monitors on the other side of the cave. With the lights they had also booted up, displaying several bat symbols on their screens. Joker’s eyes quickly moved to the right, then to the left and back again. He felt like a kid visiting a carnival, not knowing where to look, which attraction to test first. And oh, _there was so much to choose from._ He stood still for a few moments, paralyzed by all the sensations.

He could make out the silhouette of the Batmobile in the far corner and quickly ran towards it, eager to feel the cold surface of the car that had nearly run him over more times than he could remember. Pulling back the heavy protective cover, he put his hands on the shining surface, leaving greasy fingerprints all over it.

But his attention was already captivated by something else – the collection of Batsuits that were neatly presented in glass cases next to where the Batmobile was parked. Joker clapped his hands together in pure ecstasy and stepped closer. It looked like a museum exhibition. The suits even had little plaquettes with dates on them, probably representing the day they had been completed. The clown put his hands on the vitrine displaying the newest addition to the collection. It was only a few weeks old, and it looked pristine for anyone giving it a quick once-over. But on closer inspection, Joker could see small stitches on the fabric of the cape, and tiny scratches everywhere on the harder material. It was clear though that someone cared deeply to keep the suits in top condition and put a lot of time and effort into repairing any damage.

Joker’s breath condensed on the glass as he leaned in closer, and he quickly rubbed it away with his pullover sleeve.

His view fell on his own reflection in the glass, and he was quickly pulled back into reality as he stared into the blue eyes of a certain billionaire.

He didn’t want to admit it to himself, but he was still processing the fact that he wasn’t in his own body anymore.

He wanted to laugh it off, laugh at the craziness and irony, but this body simply _refused to_. This body was used to collect data and assess the situation accordingly. This body didn’t believe in such a thing as fate, it believed in creating its own destiny.

And that’s when the true realization hit him. Staring at his own reflection, and Bruce Wayne’s image projected onto the Batsuit behind the glass, Joker could only think about how surreal this all was. He tried to laugh. But as he opened his mouth, the air just didn’t want to stay in his lungs. He felt his chest tightening as if he was about to suffocate.

He could feel himself losing his grip. He could deal with maybe one absolutely crazy thing per day, like waking up in another person’s body. But to then find out that that person was in reality-

Joker’s mind simply went blank at that point, almost as if it prohibited him to think that certain thought. He flopped down onto the floor, but he didn’t feel in control of this body anymore. It was as if he was sitting in the driver’s seat, fully aware of what was happening to the car, but unable to steer it. He felt a heavy headache starting to grow in the back of his head and threatening to engulf him completely. He let out a low whimper, pulling his knees to his chest.

And as if things couldn’t get worse, his brain decided that now of all times was the best situation for him to remember what had happened just before all this. Batman suddenly appearing on one of his cameras. Their fight, Batman pulling him off the ladder, free-falling and sudden sharp pain. Batman, pulling out the small empty notebook. And he saw himself, pushing the big red button.

* * *

****

Bruce could still smell the stench of the sewer in his hair and on his skin, even after he had changed out of the drenched and dirty Arkham suit into the clothing he had grabbed at the laundry room. A short summer rain shower had thankfully passed Gotham and washed away most of the filth on him. His hair was still a bit damp, but the air was warm enough that he wouldn’t risk catching a cold. He hoped that the rest of the lingering smell could be washed away with a few thorough showers.

Bruce's hand stopped in the air, just hovering over the Wayne Manor doorbell. What was worse – the smell following him around for a few days or him having to wash a body that wasn’t even his – that was his nemesis’, of all people. Bruce hadn’t even thought about all the horribly embarrassing things that came with this situation. He could only hope that Joker didn’t enjoy himself too much. Bruce shuddered at the thought and quickly banned the image out of his mind. He had more pressing matters to think about right now.

He was standing in front of the gate to his home, Wayne Manor. He could see the familiar silhouette in the distance, dominating the nightly landscape, with only a few rooms lit up. It looked as quiet as usual, but that didn’t mean anything. Joker could already be causing havoc, and here Bruce just stood, afraid of how Alfred would react to his new body. Well, if he didn’t act quickly, the man would maybe not be able to react to _anything_ anymore.

Bruce shook his head in denial, unable to give up hope. Everything would turn out alright. He just had to believe in that, otherwise he would’ve thrown in the towel so many times before. He was glad that he had been able to shake off Doc so easily, making a weak excuse that he had to go and prepare something for his next big stunt on his own. Webber had known better than to ask his boss any intruding questions and had simply given him the address to his current hideout, should he ever need his help. Not that that would ever happen. Bruce hadn’t spotted an opportunity to ask the man about Joker’s behavior before the incident, hoping that Joker would tell him himself if there was a connection to the current case. Joker would want this situation resolved too. At least that’s what Bruce was currently betting all his money on, and he desperately hoped that he was right. He wasn’t sure if he could resolve this without the clown’s cooperation.

Not wanting to delay this any further, Bruce took a deep calming breath and pressed the doorbell. As he heard the small tune playing out of the speaker he had installed at the gate, he recalled all the different explanations he had thought of on his long way to the Manor, trying to think of any possible reaction Alfred would have to the Joker suddenly standing in front of the home of Batman’s alter ego. 

Bruce nervously waited for a response. But when a minute had passed, all he got was the usual message that played out of the speakers. Fearing the worst, Bruce pressed the button in a certain pattern. It was Morse code for SOS, and he hoped that Alfred would recognize it and understand the urgency of the situation, instead of thinking that it was just a very irritating paparazzi. He waited again, just to hear the voice message play once more.

Damn, if only he had a phone to call Alfred’s private number. Or at least a few cents for a payphone. He doubted that he could just ask an old lady to lend him some money with his current appearance either. No, he’d never get into Wayne Manor that way. Bruce had, of course, built a secret passage to the Manor and the Batcave, but they were both protected with an eye and hand scanner, so that option was also out. Bruce was getting more anxious with every passing second.

The whole Manor was secured with alarms and security devices, non-lethal of course, but they could knock out anyone daring to come close. Bruce had the exact layout of the whole system inside his head, and to his knowledge, he had secured the whole perimeter without any holes to slip through. But he simply had no other options left.

He rubbed his hands on his trousers to get rid of any sweat that would turn his climb into a miserable glissade and grabbed the cold metal bars. He had no way to get any footing on the smooth metal, so he would have to push himself up with only the strength of his arms. It was no easy task, but he knew that the Joker was way stronger than his slim frame would ever suggest.

And indeed, it took him only a few seconds to climb the whole thing, only a short time longer than he would’ve needed in his own body. He could feel his muscles burning slightly, after all he had exhausted all his strength in a short burst. To his surprise though, the sensation lasted less than two seconds, before he could already feel himself recovering completely. Bruce shook his head in disbelief. He knew that Joker had a ridiculous healing rate, but to experience it himself was something entirely different. He felt almost giddy with all the adrenaline of the short but aggressive workout pumping through his veins and he couldn’t help but let out a tiny giggle.

“I’m sure you think breaking and entering is funny, but I’d advise you to stop right there, _sir_.”

Bruce quickly slapped his hand over his mouth. Alfred was standing just beneath him, a rifle pointed straight at his chest. He hoped for Alfred’s and his own sake that the gun was loaded with non-lethal rounds. Still, he couldn’t help but be impressed and a bit proud of the ability of the old man to sneak up on him, even if he had been occupied. He felt his mouth turning into a grin despite his best efforts to control his expression. After all, an immense weight had been lifted from his shoulders: Alfred was alive, and from what he could tell, completely uninjured.

His butler put one finger on the trigger. His expression turned even sterner as the corners of his mouth turned downwards in an opposing expression to Bruce’s. Bruce suddenly realized how all this looked like, and he held his hands up in the air to show that he was unarmed and meant no harm. He had to quickly put them down however as he was losing his balance on the small gate top. He wasn’t very keen on getting himself impaled on the long spikes on top of it.

“Alfred, this is not what it looks like,” he quickly said. The old man didn’t move in the slightest, but he could see one eyebrow lifting slightly when he mentioned his name.

“Well, I am sure there is a perfectly logical explanation regarding your present situation and why I should not pull this trigger right this moment,” Alfred said in his usual polite manner, but Bruce could clearly hear the hatred in his voice. He knew Alfred wasn’t talking to him, but to the clown. But it still stung, having such malice directed at him from a person he valued so much himself.

Still perched on top of the gate, he could feel the metal slowly cutting into his hands and legs. It was getting extremely uncomfortable, but he didn’t dare to move another muscle without his butler’s permission. “May I get down here first? Please?” His voice sounded so strange in his ears. Joker was always performing, forming his voice the way he wanted it to. Bruce on the other hand just sounded tired.

“If you give me an adequate explanation, surely. It does look rather uncomfortable up there, if I may add.”

Bruce let out a sigh. This should’ve gone so much smoother. Nonetheless, he was glad that Alfred was still his usual self. He reminded himself that he was here to make it stay that way and that he’d better convince Alfred now, or everything would go downhill from here on out.

Adjusting his position slightly to get as much stability as possible, Bruce started telling everything that had happened in the last two days. Starting with how he had accidentally found the Joker lurking around on a rooftop, to them fighting and finding the strange machine, to him waking up in Arkham. When he explained to Alfred how he had discovered that he had woken up in another body, he knew that he sounded completely delusional. Hell, he couldn’t believe what had happened to him personally. Bruce could see that the story also wasn’t convincing Alfred in the slightest, but at least he hadn’t shot him yet, so he continued talking. Meeting Webber, breaking out of Arkham. Alfred turned his head slightly to the side when Bruce mentioned the secret passageway. He knew that Bruce hadn’t given the code to anyone.

Bruce was finished a few sentences later, explaining how he had rung the bell, but nobody had answered.

“I must admit, ringing SOS through the doorbell was a nice touch. Very … batmanesque,” Alfred still had the barrel of the gun pointed straight at him, but at least he wasn’t looking so angry anymore. “Well, this is not what I had expected. So, you say … that you are in fact Batman?”

Bruce nodded his head. “Yeah. It’s me, Bruce.”

They stared at each other in silence, but Bruce knew that his crazy story and a few insider facts wouldn’t be enough to convince the other man. He knew because Alfred had taught him accordingly. But Bruce had been raised by this man, and they knew secrets that only the two of them shared.

“The password to the Knightfall-Protocol is ‘Martha’,” Alfred’s eyes widened, but Bruce kept talking, “I once had a phase where I wanted to put nipples on one of my suits and I’m glad you convinced me to reconsider. I had horrible nightmares as a kid and would often stay up late reading my fathers' old books, but you once caught me reading a cheap romance novel and I was too embarrassed to ever continue reading it, although I still wonder if they ever got together-“

“Oh, no, they did,” Alfred interrupted, finally lowering the gun.

“What?” Bruce had had a lot more in store. He had been prepared to retell his most humiliating stories, because those were the ones he had never told to anyone but Alfred. He was relieved that Alfred had interrupted him, instead of having him live through these undignified moments.

“They did indeed live happily ever after. I read this particular book several times when I was young. It certainly does not have the most elaborate plot in existence, but it could capture both your and my attention. Maybe there was more to it than a first glance could assume?”

Bruce looked at him hopefully, although still unsure if he had interpreted Alfred’s words correctly. It was only when the other man waved for him to come down, that he awkwardly slid down the metal bars to the ground. His feet had fallen asleep during their talk, and he didn’t trust them to not give away should he jump down from the gate.

“I do apologize, Master Bruce. I should have at least let you get down on the other side of the gate earlier,” Alfred said, noticing Bruce’s ungraceful descent.

Bruce shook his head. “You did exactly the right thing. And I do understand if you don’t trust me completely even now.” Bruce could see Alfred’s jaw tighten. He opened his mouth to object, but Bruce held up a hand. “Please, Alfred. I’m unsure of what is happening to me right now, and I can’t guarantee your safety. At this moment, I know that I am Bruce. And I will try to fix this. But I cannot say that there won’t be a moment where you need to rely on your own instincts.”

Bruce wanted Alfred to believe him completely. But as he had explained, he had no way of knowing if he wouldn’t suddenly turn against Alfred. He had already experienced what could only be described as remnants of Joker’s own memory. Mostly muscle memory; it wasn’t obvious, but he knew that he moved differently than in his own body. The giggles and short laughs he couldn’t suppress entirely. Bruce feared that it wouldn’t just stop there.

“All I’m asking of you is to stay alert around me. Shouldn’t be too hard considering my current look,” Bruce concluded, trying to stay optimistic. He smiled at Alfred. After a short pause, he returned it, but Bruce could see the tiredness reflecting in his body posture. 

“I really do not remember this being in my job description.”

Bruce chuckled, “I think listing the things that _aren’t_ in your job description would be quicker than updating the current requirements.”

“Please, you don’t have to remind me, Master Bruce.”

* * *

Bruce had been relieved to hear that his body had eventually been brought to his own room instead of the Batcave.

Bruce had installed a life monitor as well as a tracking device into all their suits so that they knew when someone was in trouble, even if they hadn’t called in their current status. To his luck, Nightwing had been staying with them for a few days to work on some new equipment and had reacted quickly when he had received the message that Bruce had fallen unconscious.

Alfred filled him in on the details on their way to Bruce’s room: Dick had picked both of them up and dropped off what he had believed to be Joker at Arkham while bringing the real Joker straight into Batman’s sanctuary. Of course, Bruce couldn’t be a hundred percent sure about Joker now inhabiting his body, he hadn’t actually seen him yet. But from what Alfred had told him about their short encounter this evening, Bruce could draw his own conclusions.

Nightwing had to leave shortly after making sure that Bruce was in no life-threatening danger, apparently there had been a break-out in Blüdhaven. Alfred had asked him if he should call Dick or Barbara, but Bruce had shaken his head. No, Nightwing had enough problems on his own, and he didn’t need Oracle’s help so far. The situation hadn’t gotten that out of hand. Yet. Also, even though Bruce didn’t mention this to Alfred, he didn’t want Dick and especially Barbara to see him like this. He told Alfred to send them a short message later that everything was alright.

Bruce now stood in front of his own room. He looked back to Alfred, who had stayed a few steps behind and nodded. Preparing for whatever image would greet him, he took a deep breath and pushed the double doors open.

Bruce stepped into the room. He noticed the disheveled bed sheets and a few books had been carelessly dropped onto the bed and the floor, but apart from that the room looked as empty and organized as always. He quickly checked all the hiding places in the room. Behind the door, under the bed, in the bathroom, behind the shower curtain. Returning to the main room, he also decided to check the dresser, hoping for any clue as to where the clown had vanished to. He opened the top drawer to what only could be described as pure chaos.

Opening the next drawer, and the next, and the next, it only got worse. Alfred’s impeccably designed folding technique had been turned into a huge pile of crumpled clothes. If he would have to guess, he’d say that Joker hadn’t been very pleased with his own choice of clothing and had dug through his entire attire to find at least one piece that had a hint of color. He rolled his eyes at the thought.

Looking down at himself, he saw that he was still wearing the clothes he had grabbed at Arkham. Maybe he also should- no, no he had other priorities right now.

 _Just admit it, you’ll probably wear these clothes until you get your body back_ , he thought in defeat. When he had changed out of the Arkham suit, he had been relieved to see that he was, in fact, wearing grey shorts and a tank top underneath, and he had simply pulled the shirt and pants over them.

He wanted to tell himself that it was no big deal, he had seen Joker mostly naked on a few occasions. He wanted to believe that, but ... this wasn’t _his_ body, but someone else’s. It felt like an unforgivable intrusion into another person’s privacy, even if it was the Joker he was referring to.

 _Not that it matters to the man himself._ Bruce sighed as his view fell back on the pile of clothing stuffed into the drawer.

“Do you have any idea where he could’ve disappeared to?” Bruce turned to Alfred, who was now standing next to him, shooting a disapproving look at the drawer.

“I’m afraid I did not exchange many words with your doppelganger. Aside from that, I do believe securing the cave should be a top priority, howsoever the fellow should’ve found his way down there.”

Bruce nodded his head in agreement. It seemed highly unlikely, but he couldn’t shake the bad feeling he was getting.

“Perhaps it would be best if we were to split up?”

“No. I really don’t like the idea of leaving you alone with Joker possibly roaming the halls. One or two shattered vases from whatever dynasty are not that important,” Bruce shrugged. _Certainly not as important as_ you, he thought to himself. Alfred looked like he wanted to protest but then decided against it. From the corner of his eye, Bruce caught a glimpse of a small, kind smile showing on Alfred’s face.

They reached the library shortly after. Bruce went to pull out the books and noted with relief that they were in the position he always left them. The secret passage opened, and Alfred put his hand on the scanner. Damn, it would take ages for him to recalculate all the scanning devices he had installed.

They both stepped into the elevator, Bruce’s pulse quickening despite his best efforts to tell himself that Joker couldn’t possibly have gotten into the Batcave.

They stepped out into the cold, damp cave air, lights flooding the darkness. Bruce shot a quick look around and felt his stomach drop as he spotted the cover of the Batmobile lying halfway on the ground. With a few long steps, Bruce crossed the room, Alfred trailing behind him.

Maybe it had just been Dick. Maybe he had just forgotten to put the cover back into place after driving back to the Manor. He knew that Nightwing sometimes did forget to place things back where he had found them. “Alfred, have you been down here after Nightwing got back? I think he left the cover down …,” Bruce trailed off as he looked at the fingerprints trailing along the side of the car. Damn it.

He heard Alfred next to him suck in his breath and whirled around, but couldn’t spot any immediate danger. “What is it?” he whispered. Alfred was staring straight at the collection of Batsuits, just a few feet from where they stood. Bruce’s view was mostly being blocked by the massive car, so he stepped around it to get a better perspective at what had Alfred looking so spooked.

“I believe we found our elusive criminal,” Alfred whispered back.

It was no wonder that they had both overlooked him when they had entered the cave. He sat curled up in a small niche between the car and the suits, his legs drawn close to his chest, his hands clutching his knees. He was staring straight ahead, an empty expression on his face.

“Joker?” Bruce asked cautiously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was tempted to call this chapter "The Gate" because I just couldn't get Bruce off of that damn thing. (Edit: Hope you like the songs I picked for the chapter names now instead!)
> 
> And, yes people, batnipples are officially non-existent in this story thanks to the true MVP Alfred Pennyworth!
> 
> I'm only now realizing how slowly this story is moving forward, and I hope you all don't mind a bit of a longer story. Ah, what am I saying, everybody loves a bit of slow burn, right? So, strap in and enjoy the ride! I'm hoping I can keep up with the weekly upload, but so far it worked fine for me, so see you all again next week!
> 
> Cheers!


	4. Where you're the only motherfucker in the city who can handle me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to thank you all for giving me such a warm welcome <3 I've been lurking around in the Batjokes community for over five years now, and now I feel like I wasted a lot of opportunities for not having published things earlier, you're all so kind! You guys keep me motivated in these hard times :)
> 
> Shoutout to Khaelusa for giving me a lot of ideas and concepts that I could work into this chapter!
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> [chapter title: [New York](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n48vQgfXygc) by St. Vincent]

“Joker?” Bruce asked cautiously.

He didn’t react. It was quite a shock for Bruce to see himself in this state. He had read stories about people describing out-of-body experiences, but this was something truly _physical_. Thinking longer about it made his head hurt. Evidently, he was dealing with it better than Joker did though.

Yet, oddly enough, seeing his body here made him feel calmer than he had been since waking up at Arkham. Even if he wasn’t in control of it this moment, he felt reassured that the Bruce Wayne he knew hadn’t simply … ceased to exist. Both parts, his mind and his body, were still there, just separate.

A new wave of determination filled him. He could fix this.

Glancing back, he saw his butler nervously fidgeting with his bowtie. “Alfred, why don’t you go check if something else is amiss upstairs?”

Alfred looked relieved at being handed an excuse to leave the Joker’s vicinity. “Certainly, Master Bruce. Shall I prepare a meal for you as well?” He paused. “And for … our newest guest?”

Bruce hadn’t even realized how hungry he was, he had been so busy with everything. He hadn’t eaten since yesterday evening, right before the patrol. Actually, that had now been two days ago, midnight had long passed. “Yes, that would be great. Thanks, Alfred.” The old man gave him a short nod, glanced a last time at Joker still sitting silently on the floor, and hastily strode off towards the cave exit.

When Bruce heard the elevator doors opening and closing, he took a deep breath and took a step towards Joker. He still couldn’t make out any reaction, so he slowly edged closer until he stood right in front of him. Not wanting to tower menacingly above him, he crouched down to be at eye level.

“Joker?” he asked once again. Joker blinked slowly as if returning from somewhere deep in his mind. Bruce was satisfied to get at least some kind of response out of him now. He would need to question him to make sure that it was truly Joker in his body. And then he would either have to convince him to work with him, or he’d have to lock him up. Sending him to Arkham obviously was no option: He couldn’t just drop Bruce Wayne off at the institute and proclaim that he was, in fact, a dangerous criminal. He just hoped that the small cell he had installed in the cave would be enough to hold the clown.

“Do you know where you are?”, he asked, but still got no answer. Bruce stretched out a hand and gingerly touched him at the shoulder. Joker recoiled as if something had burned him, and Bruce feared that the contact had only managed to disturb him further. To his surprise, Joker’s hand suddenly darted at him, grabbing his wrist in a tight grip.

Bruce immediately pulled back and jumped to his feet, thinking that he had been lulled into a false sense of security. Damn it, he had walked right into a trap.

But Joker stayed down, his hand now hanging limply in the air. He blinked another few times, and then his vision seemed to finally clear as he stared up at Bruce above him. He furrowed his brow in confusion, and then his eyes widened in panic. He tried to scramble away from Bruce but soon bumped into the showcases behind him.

“Hey, hey, calm down,” Bruce tried to soothe him; Joker probably thought he was hallucinating. “It’s me, Batman.”

“Bats?” Joker whispered, the realization slowly dawning on his face.

Bruce watched him, trying to assess the situation. He knew that leaving him unchained like this could lead to all kinds of disaster, but Joker really seemed out of it. He hadn’t fought with Joker without his suit before, but he expected that Joker’s punches, and therefore his, would indeed hurt a lot more unprotected. So, he should be fine. Probably. Also, he needed to get his word on his cooperation, which would hopefully go a lot smoother while still being unchained.

He decided to crouch down once again, but this time with an arm-length distance. “Do you know who and where you are?” Bruce repeated the question.

Joker remained quiet, continuing to stare at him. Bruce raised an eyebrow, deciding to wait for an answer.

“You’re looking quite handsome today, hon’,” Joker finally said, a small smile appearing on his face. Any doubt that this wasn’t Joker vanished with that remark. After having what appeared to be a mental breakdown, only the clown could follow up with a pick-up line. _Well, more like a twisted self-compliment_ , Bruce had to remind himself.

“I haven’t showered in two days, I smell like I’ve wandered around in a sewer, because I’ve literally had to walk through one to get here, and the stuff I’m wearing is at least three sizes too large because you’re incredibly skinny. So, I beg to differ,” Bruce retorted.

“I kind of thought you would enjoy … whatever this is,” he added after a short pause.

He had in fact been terrified of what Joker could break while having free reign in his body. He had thought that the clown would wreak havoc on Gotham, dragging Batman’s name through the mud, destroying the reputation Bruce had worked so hard for. He couldn’t quite understand what had left him a pitiful pile slumped down on the cave floor instead. This was a completely new situation for both of them, and Joker didn’t seem to comprehend what was happening to them any more than Bruce did.

Suddenly, Joker’s eyes lit up, his former sluggishness disappearing. “If you want to make me feel better, I’m sure a short cruise in your car could do the trick. With me on the steering wheel of course. Now that I think of it, does it even have a steering wheel? You never let me sit in the front like a big boy,” Joker pouted at him.

Bruce leaned his head to the side, analyzing Joker’s response. The clown either really didn’t know what had caused that reaction to him, or he didn’t want to explain it. Probably a bit of both. However, he had given Bruce enough to assume that he did indeed enjoy taking his body out for a walk, so to speak.

“So, I suppose that means that you won’t help me? Catch whoever is behind all this, I mean.”

“Aw, now don’t look so sad dearest. How could I refuse such a cute face?” Joker chuckled, but his face quickly turned expressionless again when he got no response out of Bruce.

“Always so serious,” Joker said, looking down at the floor. Then he raised his hands and put each of his index fingers into a corner of his mouth. He slowly pulled backward, until his mouth looked like a grotesque grin. Before he could hurt himself, Bruce scooted forward and grabbed his arms. He watched in astonishment as tears welled up in Joker’s now blue eyes. 

“I can’t _laugh_ , Bats.”

Joker looked down at Bruce’s white, slender hands locked around his wrists. Now, it was his turn to pull back from him, but Bruce didn’t let him go. “Is that why you had the panic attack?”, he inquired, ignoring Joker’s half-hearted attempts to free himself from his grip.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Joker spat at him, his eyes still glistening. “This is your damn body, not mine! Seriously though, did you not learn how to _laugh_ in bat-kindergarten?”

Bruce unexpectedly had the ridiculous image of Alfred dressing up and grimacing to a class of tiny, stoic-faced Batmen pop up in his head. He couldn’t help but let out a soft giggle. When he caught Joker’s incredulous stare, he quickly sucked in his breath to stop further laughter from coming out.

“Did you just _giggle_?”, the clown asked. “God, this is so _messed up._ ”

Bruce couldn’t agree more. They were so incredibly different in all regards, and their bodies knew that. They had adapted accordingly to their personality, to their habits. One couldn’t just remove and replace these traits without causing severe confusion inside the system.

He caught Joker’s eyes, and they shared one of those strange, short moments of understanding each other without having to speak the words. They knew that they would both need the other one’s help to put things back where they should be.

****

* * *

“You won’t chain me up like a disobedient puppy.”

He saw Batman shooting a quick glance to the other side of the cave. Following his eyes, Joker spotted a set of bars in the shadows. _Of course_ , he thought, _locking me away in the darkest corner he can find._

“The more things change, the more they stay the same, eh Bats? I should’ve guessed that it would already be too much to ask of you,” Joker glared at him, his hands tightening into fists.

Batman actually had the audacity to look back at him in surprise, as if the idea of locking him away had never crossed his mind. “Oh, come now, don’t look at me like that,” Joker rolled his eyes.

“We both know that I can’t just leave you running around,” Batman said. Joker found it rather ironic that he then crossed his arms, effectively letting Joker free again from his iron grip. He guessed that he could make a run for it now if he really wanted to. And probably get captured again while waiting for the elevator. Also, where would he go from there? No, no, this wouldn’t work.

“It’ll be fun! Just the two of us … and that old dude. Who was that anyway?” He raised his hand to his chin, remembering the short exchange he had with the butler. “I think we didn’t get off on a very good start this evening.”

“I have to at least handcuff you,” Batman said, choosing to ignore his remark on his butler. Joker made a mental note that he was probably a very important person in his life. He couldn’t remember if the old man had followed Batman into the cave, but it couldn’t be simple to keep such a secret from his housekeeper.

 _Batman has a housekeeper_ , Joker thought. That thought was so absurd, he could feel a laugh bubbling in his stomach. He let out a small giggle. Then his thoughts evolved further, into directions they weren’t supposed to go.

 _Batman is Bruce Wayne_ , he thought. _Batman is the crowd-pleaser himself._

It was absolutely ridiculous. Batman, who’d rather punch someone through a wall instead of following their instructions when they didn’t fit him _just_ right. He was an unstoppable force, pushing his way through, regardless of what others thought about him. _Bruce Wayne_ , on the other hand, did everything possible just to satisfy his audience. The Golden Boy.

It hurt, and he wanted it all to disappear. Life was once again playing with him, and he wanted to laugh straight into its hideous face. But, like before, nothing came out. He could sense the claustrophobic feeling creeping in on him again, and he started gasping for breath. _Damn it, not again_ , he panicked as he clutched one hand to his chest.

“Are you okay?” he could hear Batman’s voice from somewhere far away, his vision fading at the sides. _Do I look okay?_ he wanted to spat at him, but he didn’t get any words out. He could feel a weight pressing onto his shoulders, pushing him down. Everything felt very heavy.

“You need to breathe-,” Batman’s voice once again came through. _What do you think I’m trying to do_ , Joker thought, as he desperately gasped for air. “No, no you’re not listening. You’re hyperventilating. Here-,” He flinched as a cold hand grabbed his, but didn’t resist when Batman put it on his own chest.

“Okay, now _slowly_ breathe with me. We’ll breathe in until five, and then let it out till I count to five too. Right, like that, one … two … three …”

Joker followed his instructions. At first, it felt even worse than before, and he had to strongly resist the urge to breathe faster. He concentrated on Batman’s chest rising and falling with every breath, reminding himself that there was nothing wrong with his lungs, that it was all in his head. A few minutes passed, but finally his breathing turned normal again, and he could stop counting in his head.

He gently pulled his hand back from Batman, staring at the intersecting lines in his palm which looked so different from his own. “Do you get these panic attacks often?” Joker inquired, breaking the silence and shooting a questioning look up at Batman.

The other man remained quiet for a while, studying Joker, probably calculating how much he should tell him. “Well? This is temporarily my body, so I think I have every right to know what’s happening to it.”

Batman let out a sigh, his shoulders dropping in defeat. “I suppose you’re right. I … I used to have them as a kid, yeah. I learned how to deal with them, however. How to handle them. Counting, breathing slowly. It gets easier over time.”

He rubbed the bridge of his nose, “I really don’t have that many options left. But if handcuffs give you panic attacks …”

His eyes wandered in the direction of the cell in the back of the cave once again, but Joker would have none of that. “Oh, no, handcuffs are fine. Do you still have the ones with the pink plush? Those were always my favorite.”

Raising an eyebrow at him, Batman stood up and went to grab a pair, watching Joker out of the corner of his eye. When he returned, Joker also got to his feet, grimacing at the tingly feeling rushing up his left leg. It had fallen asleep; he hadn’t even realized how long he had previously sat on the cold floor before the Bat had found him.

“Put’em on, chief!” He readily stretched his arms out in front of him, and Batman closed the first handcuff around one wrist with a small but audible clicking sound. Just as he was locking the second one in place, Joker suddenly leaned forward. “So, what’s our safe word?” he asked seductively, his voice dropping low. It wasn’t as deep as Batman’s since he used a voice changer, but it came pretty close.

He expected Batman to be appalled and shrink away from him as usual; it was a game they played since the beginning. Joker couldn’t resist putting him just a bit at unease, in return for putting him in chains.

To his surprise, Batman did the exact opposite and came even closer, his hands still lingering on Jokers. His breath ghosted over Joker’s face and sent a light shiver down his spine. Before their noses could touch however, Joker felt himself pulling away, swiftly withdrawing his hands from Batman’s. The motion was accompanied by a quiet metallic sound of the handcuffs clinking together, then the cave fell silent again. Batman blinked slowly as if he hadn’t been fully there the last few seconds.

“Well, that was awkward.” Joker let out a nervous chuckle.

He had no time to think about it however, as the butler chose that exact moment to enter the cave, carrying a tablet with two plates covered by cloches. Batman quickly took a few steps away from Joker, as if he had been caught doing something inappropriate. The old man chose to ignore it, or simply didn’t notice it since he kept his eyes trained on Joker. He lifted his cuffed hands in response, giving him a reassuring wink. “Not to worry Jeeves, this clown has been safely secured.”

The man raised an eyebrow at him and set the silver tablet on a table. The simple piece of furniture looked oddly out of place next to the cutting-edge technology stored down here, but he guessed that even the Bat needed a table to read his morning papers. Well, probably more like top-secret documents he had lifted from the safe of an unsuspecting mobster. _Ah, tomato tomato._

“Master Bruce,” Joker grimaced slightly at the name, “I would recommend the meal on the left.” Without missing a beat, he turned to Joker, carefully maintaining a poker face. “I seem to have accidentally dropped the saltshaker when I was seasoning the second meal, my deepest apologies.”

Joker sensed a smirk creeping up on his face, but it wasn’t a malicious one. He was genuinely amused by the man’s so bold yet surprisingly cunning action. He immediately took a liking to this man; and as they stared at each other, each refusing to back down, he intuitively knew that he could trust this man with his life. And with that thought, he suddenly remembered something else, but it wasn’t his own voice that had whispered him the name.

“Alfred … Pennyworth, right?” Batman shot him a surprised look, which quickly turned into a thoughtful one as he was certainly already sorting that information somewhere into his big bat-brain. “I think you didn’t get a great impression of me earlier; I do apologize. Let’s bury the hatchet!” he stretched out his arms for a handshake. “And later we can gossip all about Batsy here! Do you still have photos of when he was just a kid? Oh, I’d love to see those too. Please tell me there’s one from Halloween, I always wondered if he just dressed up as himself,” he snickered at the thought.

Before Alfred could reply, Batman quickly interfered: “Thanks, Alfred. No need for you to stay any longer, I can handle him. I’ll message you should I need anything else.” The butler gave him a short nod, glancing angrily at Joker one last time, before vanishing as quickly as he had appeared.

* * *

“So, you can handle me, huh? My, so confident in yourself. I like it!” Joker said as the elevator doors had closed again.

Bruce ignored him and sat down at the table. “Come on. Or do you like your food cold?” He pulled the left meal closer towards him and lifted the cloche. Underneath sat a big bowl of soup. A mouth-watering smell wafted in his direction, and his stomach grumbled quietly. He smiled as he recognized the soup. It was his favorite, mulligatawny, a simple Anglo-Indian dish Alfred had cooked for him since he was a child.

“Ah, that’s actually a pretty good question,” Joker answered, following him to the table and grabbing the chair opposite of Bruce. He made a show of slowly dragging it across the floor, and Bruce noticed with satisfaction that Joker didn’t look very pleased as the soft wood didn’t make any noise on the floor. He flipped the chair around, so that the back was facing towards Bruce, and plopped down. Then he propped his bound hands and his head on the backrest, watching Bruce with interest.

“What?” Bruce asked, confused.

Joker remained silent but quickly grew impatient when Bruce continued to wait for an explanation. He began tapping his fingers on the chair restlessly. “You just said you don’t want your food to go cold, so what’s the hold-up?”

“You don’t want to eat?” Bruce knew that Joker had gone on hunger strikes in the Asylum before, but he saw no reason why he’d do that now.

The clown shook his head hastily. “No, no, that smells delicious. Don’t you think so too?” He smiled innocently. He slid backward on the chair until most of his face was hidden behind the backrest and only his eyes were visible. Bruce knew that puppy-eyed look. He used it when he wanted to convince someone as Bruce Wayne to do something for him.

Bruce sighed in defeat and grabbed a spoon Alfred had brought with him. He saw Joker’s eyes grow even wider as he put the soup in his mouth, hoping he hadn’t been tricked somehow. Joker had no way to poison him in any way, had he?

Just as he thought that he tasted the creamy liquid on his tongue. Or rather, he didn’t. He could feel the smooth texture in his mouth, but he could’ve been eating Styrofoam and not notice a difference regarding flavor. He thought that he could very faintly make out a sweet note, but that could’ve just been his brain remembering how the soup was supposed to taste.

Bewildered, he eyed Joker, who was apparently trying very hard not to burst out into laughter. “What did you do?” he demanded, grabbing the clown by the front of the pullover. He pulled him forward, tipping the chair at a risky angle. “Did you poison me?”

“Poison you?” Joker looked at him incredulously. Then he started to crack up, but instead of his usual hysterical cackle, Bruce’s hearty laugh echoed through the cave. It didn’t have the typical malignant undertone that followed Bruce into his nightmares. He sounded genuinely amused, and it reminded Bruce of the few times he had been able to laugh like that. There hadn’t been many, these days.

He let go of Joker, who yelped as the chair swung back abruptly. It almost toppled over, but he managed to regain his balance, still chuckling. “Ah, you’re precious,” he said, wiping a tear of laughter from his cheek. “No, of course I didn’t _poison_ you, where would be the fun in that?”

He grabbed the bowl of soup from Bruce and put it on his side of the table. Then he lifted the cover from the second plate and pushed that one towards him. “Here, dig in. That should taste much better. Well, if Alfred didn’t go completely overboard and replaced the actual _soup_ with salt.”

Joker gave the bowl a little nudge when Bruce still hesitated. He had a suspicion as to what was happening, it just seemed so weird considering that the clown had never mentioned it. “You can’t taste anything?” he inquired.

The clown tilted his head to one side, shrugging. “You’re about to find out. Go on, try it.”

Bruce followed his instructions this time and cautiously put one spoonful of the salty soup in his mouth. At first, he still didn’t taste anything, but slowly the different flavors came back, weirdly comforting in their familiarity. The soup didn’t taste as rich as it normally did, however. It was like viewing a picture of a place, instead of actually being there.

“My taste buds got pretty much completely fried when I fell into the acid,” Joker said, his eyes staring into the distance.

Bruce paused, remembering the fateful night. How often had he imagined things going differently? If Joker hadn’t been the one under the hood. If Joker had just run like the others. If he just had been able to grab Joker’s hand.

“You never told the doctors at Arkham?” he asked, pushing the guilty thoughts aside. He couldn’t have possibly known the consequences of that fight. And even if he could’ve prevented it, would that really have resolved anything? Or had it simply been the last drop in a glass that was filled to the brim?

Joker blinked, returning to the present. He frowned at him. “Sure, I’ll just ask them next time. ‘Hey doc, I really don’t like your crappy food, could you bring me some cake instead?’ I absolutely see no fault in your plan whatsoever,” he replied in a sarcastic tone.

“Cake?” Bruce asked, lifting an eyebrow.

“What? For some reason, sweets seem to work just fine for me. And that much salt can’t be healthy over long periods of time.” He rolled his eyes when Bruce crossed his arms. “Look, _sugar plum_ , I don’t tell you what to eat, so quit pretending you actually care. Besides, I think I’m in top shape. After all, you’re the best workout anyone could hope for!”

Bruce agreed to disagree. The clown was incredibly skinny, but if every kind of food except for sweets tasted like cardboard to him, he could understand why he didn’t look too healthy.

He wondered how exactly Joker’s metabolism worked. That much sugar would explain the immense energy he possessed, and perhaps his body even had a completely different way of processing it from the normal person altogether. Bruce remembered the short outburst of strength he had felt when climbing the fence and the immediate tiredness that had followed. In fact, his fights with Joker never lasted more than one or two minutes, until one had either bested the other or Joker decided to make a run for it.

Bruce stored that information away for later, should he get into an actual fight. Joker had been able to transform that apparent weakness into a strength, but Bruce’s concern remained whether he could adapt his technique fast enough.

Meanwhile, Joker had grabbed the remaining spoon and was now blowing the steam off the soup which had been originally intended for Bruce himself. He grimaced at the thought of having to tell Alfred later. The man was highly confident in his cooking skills, and it certainly had required a lot of bitter emotions towards the clown to make him waste a perfectly good meal. To tell him that he would have to do that to _Bruce’s_ meal each time from now on would certainly hurt, and it once again reminded him that he had to resolve this situation fast. Before the night was over, he’d go back to where the whole thing had started. He just hoped Joker would play along.

His train of thought was disrupted by Joker letting out a low moan. “My goodness, this soup has to be the most delicious thing ever created. I might just go back on my word and keep your body after all, Bats.” He shoved another spoonful into his mouth. He had to hold the cutlery with two hands due to the cuffs linking them together, so it looked rather clumsy, but Joker was completely ensnared.

Bruce cleared his throat and Joker looked up at him, the spoon hovering in the air. “That was a _joke_ , in case you couldn’t tell. Hey, you think that Alfred could teach one of my boys how to cook like that? We could finally open a restaurant! ‘ _Joker’s: food that puts a smile on your face’_ , how does that sound? No, no, that’s a little on the nose …”

Bruce resumed eating in silence. While Joker was either making obscene noises or talking about food, he continued to ponder about everything that had happened.

“Joker, why exactly were you watching the building?” Bruce interrupted him while the clown was listing to him how he would name the dishes he would serve at his restaurant.

Joker glared at him but put his bowl aside. “First of all, way to change the topic. Second: Uh, _rude_. Third … actually, there’s nothing to add here, interrupting people is pretty rude. But, since you’re asking so nicely, I guess I’ll tell you,” he shrugged. “I was simply following up a rumor about a new … person of interest. You’d also be curious to know who’s moving in next doors, right? I know as much as you do though, which is next to nothing, sorry to disappoint pumpkin.”

Bruce nodded his head absentmindedly. He had heard similar rumors, mostly about equipment going missing, but he had thought little about it at that time. He had directed his attention at Gotham’s known criminals, trying to figure out who was planning an attack. He hadn’t expected a new player altogether.

Putting his spoon back into the empty bowl, Bruce recalled that he had wanted to ask Joker about him behaving differently before the switch. Webber seemed to be rather close to his boss, so he figured that the man’s observations had a tangible truth to them.

“Joker, one of your henchmen mentioned that you weren’t yourself, even before what happened.”

Joker raised an eyebrow at him. “Now, who would say that? Wait, don’t tell me. You couldn’t escape Arkham on your own without all of your fancy playthings, could you?”

Bruce hesitated to tell him Webber’s name. He didn’t know whether Joker would choose to get back at the man for telling Bruce something he probably wasn’t supposed to know. Webber was a ruthless and dangerous man, but he’d prevent an unnecessary death whenever possible.

Joker leaned forward and studied his face carefully. “Snitches get stitches, huh? I respect that. But let’s see if I can’t figure it out myself …” He propped his head on his hands and put his forefinger on the tip of his nose. “Who has the connections inside the Asylum to find me in just one day? And not just _find_ me, but also pull off a breakout on the exact same day? Hm … sadly for you, Batsy, there aren’t that many.” He smiled triumphantly. “Guess who? Is it-”

Before he could finish the sentence, the Batcomputer suddenly made a loud beeping sound. Bruce jumped up and went to check what had happened when Alfred’s voice was transferred through the speaker system.

“Master Bruce, I know this is not the best time, but there is a certain ‘Mr. Webber’ that wants to talk to you. Well, both of you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, so this chapter was a real mess at the beginning. I had to actually break the whole thing into little puzzle pieces, trying to figure out how they all fit together, but it all worked out in the end, I'm not sure how :')
> 
> I actually did cook the mulligatawny soup mentioned in this chapter, because I had absolutely no clue how it tasted. I looked up a few recipes, and they all had ingredients that I never really liked on their own. On the other hand, I do enjoy trying out new things, so I thought, hey, what could go wrong, it's Bruce's favorite meal after all, it can't be that bad.
> 
> And, oh boy, was I wrong.
> 
> This soup is now definitely in my top five of favorite meals, maybe even in the first place. If you get the chance, you should try it! Here's the [recipe](https://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/mulligatawny_soup_68949) I used!
> 
> Cheers!


	5. I smile because you want to

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rating has gone up, so please check the tags before every chapter if you don't want any unpleasant surprises! :)
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> [chapter title: [Pools](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P2uWvl5SU3k) by Glass Animals]

“Master Bruce, I know this is not the best time, but there is a certain ‘Mr. Webber’ that wants to talk to you. Well, both of you.”

Bruce’s heart plummeted to his stomach. Damn it, he had told him not to follow him. He wasn’t that stupid not to check on anyone lurking in the shadows, but apparently he hadn’t been thorough enough. Webber had military experience, stalking someone in the middle of the night shouldn’t be too hard for him. And if he was asking for Joker, he had seen him enter Wayne Manor. God, what if he heard Alfred’s and his conversation?

“Speak about timing! Your butler would make a fine comedian himself,” Joker chuckled, and his eyes lit up from excitement. He got up from his chair and stopped at Bruce’s side. “Good ol’ Doc! Oh, this will be fun!” He clapped his hands together, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet.

“ _Fun?_ ” Bruce hissed. He whirled around, grabbing Joker firmly by the shoulders. “My _life_ could be on the line, Joker. _Everything_ I ever stood for. And you call that _fun?_ ” he challenged him.

Joker held his hands up between them, shrugging. Bruce shoved him away with an angry grunt; the damn clown would be of no help here. He had to think of a good excuse for Joker being in Wayne Manor, and he had to think fast. If Webber had seen his boss entering his home, he must’ve also seen that it hadn’t been by force. No, he had been _let in_ by Bruce Wayne’s butler.

“Does anyone even know about the cameras you installed?” Bruce asked, clinging to an idea. He’d have to rely on telling a half-truth. If he could somehow convince Webber that they had indeed switched bodies, and Webber didn’t know what Joker had been doing all along, he could keep Batman entirely out of the picture. Yes, that could work. Bruce Wayne had been around Joker by coincidence and someone had decided to play a trick on both of them.

Then Joker nodded his head. “Yeah, pretty sure that’s how the news about, well, you being in Arkham got to Webber so quickly, too. He keeps tabs on these things, that’s what a doctor is supposed to do, right? Keep in contact with his patients?” He let out a small yelp when Bruce slammed his fists on the table. “Now, don’t get your knickers in a twist, darling-”

Dammit. If someone had checked the cameras, they must’ve seen him and Joker clash on the rooftop. So, he couldn’t argue with the body switch because that would reveal his identity as Batman. Not that Joker already knowing his other half wasn’t bad, but at least he could assume that he would keep it secret. The clown certainly had had a few opportunities where he could’ve peeked under the mask, but he had always chosen not to. It would … ruin their little game.

Webber had no such interests though. Even if he was loyal to Joker, there was a hefty sum on Batman’s true identity.

He could certainly convince him that Bruce Wayne and the Joker were conspiring together, but that would forever ruin his status in the city.

He could just say nothing, but that would just buy him a bit of time until the second option would come true. Webber would eventually put two and two together, he certainly had the intelligence for it.

Either way, he’d lose half of himself.

Bruce had no more options left. The panic came crashing back, just barely contained behind a thin wall since he had realized that he wasn’t in his body anymore. Now, the fear that everything would fall apart finally overwhelmed him.

Bruce let out a low chuckle. It was all so very ironic. He had worked so hard to keep his identity secret, and now it would be revealed due to his inability to think of a good enough excuse. Fuck, he was _pathetic_.

 _Well, it really doesn’t matter anymore, does it?_ he thought. His chuckle evolved into a louder giggle. It sounded shrill in his ears, and it sent shivers down his spine. But at the same time, it simply felt so _good_. The sound silenced out his raging thoughts, words he didn’t want to listen to. He just wanted to laugh, to forget who he was in this moment, and laugh his brains out.

“Bats?” He heard his own voice from somewhere far away.

 _I’m sorry, but Batman can’t come to the phone right now,_ he thought erratically. _Would you like to make an appointment?_ Bruce realized he was falling into something he wouldn’t be able to control. But he simply couldn’t stop _laughing_.

He managed to suppress his cackling by biting into his arm. That made it hard to breathe though, so he had to forcefully pull his limb out of his mouth due to his jaw cramping up. His teeth left a painful red mark on his skin that looked like an upside-down smile.

 _This isn’t even funny_ , he thought, before another outbreak of giggles shook his whole body.

“For fuck’s sake, Batman, get a grip!”

Suddenly he was tumbling several feet back, a sharp pain flaring up on his cheek. The laughter literally had been knocked out of him, and he was finally able to take a deep breath. A few moments passed in which he simply focused on breathing, trying not to lose control again. He blinked a few times and put his hand on his forehead, feeling a painful headache forming.

“As much as I love a good laugh, this is certainly not the time.”

Bruce looked back at Joker, surprised to see anger flickering in his eyes. He always thought that seeing the Batman finally snap was his ultimate goal. To drive him just as insane as he was. Instead, he had pulled him back on solid ground. Even if a punch certainly hadn’t been the gentlest method, it had done the job. He felt a glimpse of gratitude towards the clown.

Still, he had run out of ideas. Bruce sat down on the chair and let his head sink into his hands. It was over.

Joker strode over to him, waving his hands in front of his face. The clinking of the chain was annoying, but Bruce couldn’t quite muster the energy to stop him. “Hello-o, Earth to Batman? You haven’t forgotten me, have you?”

“How could I?” he mumbled quietly into his hands. He just wanted him to go away so that he could enjoy his last moments as Batman, but apparently he wouldn’t even grant him that. _As Batman?_ he thought weakly, looking at his pale fingers. Just how had he managed to lose his body _and_ his identity in two nights?

“Oh, cheer up, buttercup. Do not worry, the Joker has come to your rescue!” the clown exclaimed, patting him heavily on the back. Bruce shot him an angry look, but he secretly felt an immense weight lifting from his shoulders. Had Joker been able to think of something after all?

“Does your _rescue_ involve killing?” he questioned, looking up at Joker smiling winningly.

The clown rolled his eyes. “Please, who do you take me for? A simple-minded brute?” He crouched down so that he was at eye-level with him.

“Now, I think the plan’s pretty much foolproof _and_ fun at the same time, which means that you probably won’t like it. Ah!” he exclaimed, putting his index finger in front of Bruce’s lips to silence his protests. “As I said, none shall be harmed in the making of this scheme. I can’t tell you what it is though, or your reaction won’t be genuine. So, I guess the final question is …”

He leaned forward on his tiptoes, grinning his typical smile that looked so foreign on Bruce’s face, “Do you trust me, Bats?”

* * *

They met Webber and Alfred in the dining room next to the Great Hall. Bruce was unsure if letting the criminal into his house had been the best course of action, but Joker had insisted. He had also unchained the clown against his better judgment. He sighed; he must be truly desperate if he bet everything on Joker’s plan.

Joker came to a halt in front of the heavy, wooden double doors that led to the dining room. He turned to Bruce trailing behind him, an uncommonly serious look on his face. “I need you to play along on this one, Bats, or it won’t work. Doc is not your usual run-of-the-mill thug. There’s a reason why he’s so high up in the pecking order, don’t forget that.” His stern look then vanished and was replaced with Bruce’s typical crooked smile. “Remember whose face you’re wearing and use a bit of that charismatic potential. Or just throw on the usual show you put up for the ladies, I don’t care. If everything goes well, Webber will be gone in no time.”

He gave him a thumbs up and winked. Bruce took a deep breath, forcing a smile on his face. Then Joker pushed open the doors and entered the room, Bruce following closely behind.

The dining room was split into two sections. On one end were several large tables; they were hardly ever needed in here, but instead carried out into the Great Hall to act as serving tables for various appetizers and drinks during an event in Wayne Manor. The other side of the room looked much comfier. A few cozy couches were placed around a large fireplace, a soft carpet, and big pillows completing the look. It was one of his most favorite places in the Manor, especially in the winter when Alfred lit up the fireplace. Bruce fondly remembered times in which he could finally come home after a long night, Alfred waiting for him patiently, having put log after log into the hungry flames.

Now the fireplace was cold. Alfred stood next to it, his hands behind his back as usual. Bruce could see the strain in his face, nevertheless. Webber was also standing, arms crossed, and studying his surroundings with keen eyes. Bruce was surprised to see that he had changed his clothes. He had replaced the garish Arkham clothes with a stylish three-piece suit, the colors matching Joker’s palette, though his version was a bit more toned down.

Bruce figured that he had every right to be angry at Webber; the henchman had completely disregarded his order. He had seen Joker kill some of his goons for less.

“I thought I had told you not to follow me, Doc. And yet,” Bruce stretched his arms out, vaguely pointing in Webber’s direction, “here you stand. Care to elaborate?” He watched Joker from the corner of his eye placing his hands in his pockets, lazily observing the exchange.

“Aw, now don’t get all angry on me, boss,” Webber said, uncrossing his arms. He shot him an apologetic look, but Bruce noted that he was nervously fidgeting with his thin bow tie. Good, so he had indeed stepped out of line, even if he belonged to Joker’s favorites. “It’s just,” Webber continued, “you haven’t been quite yourself lately. I mean, you said it yourself, right? I was worried about you, so I decided, maybe I should go check up on you.” Bruce spotted Alfred raising his eyebrows at that, and he could only agree. He wouldn’t press the matter further since he didn’t have all the information, but he’d have to ask Joker later again. The clown had been able to dodge the question earlier, but if it led to his own allies spying on him, he would have to know the truth.

“Didn’t come with empty hands of course,” Webber quickly added when he noticed Bruce’s anger not receding. He grabbed a small bag that had been hidden from view behind one of the couches and presented it to Bruce. “I know it’s not much, but I thought t’was the least I could do to bring you back to your old self, just by a bit.”

Bruce didn’t like how close Webber was hitting to home there, as if he knew more than he was giving away. He cautiously accepted the bag and peeked inside. He mostly saw a lot of purple fabric. Even without touching it, he could see that it was of good quality and handled with care. One of Joker’s suits.

“Clothes make the man! I, uh,” he paused, throwing a side glance at Joker, who had done a surprisingly good job at keeping quiet. Bruce wondered when his _plan_ would come into action, or if he would just watch him struggle on, trying to convince Webber. Of what, he had no clue. “I … borrowed a phone from someone while I waited in front of Wayne Manor for you to come back out. Told one of the guys to bring me the suits. Can’t let you run around in public like that, now can I?”

Bruce was unsure if he should continue this course of action. He definitely felt more in his element portraying an angry Joker, yet he didn’t want to risk escalating the situation. He paused, trying to think of his next words.

Thankfully, Joker stepped in when the silence stretched just a bit too long. “I don’t think we’ve been introduced yet,” he said, stepping next to Bruce and extending a hand to Webber. Doc’s eyes flickered over to his boss as if asking for permission. Bruce simply shrugged, deciding to play it cool for now and let Joker handle the situation, just as he had promised. He flopped down onto one of the couches, crossing his legs and spreading his arms over the backrest as if he owned the place. Which he did, obviously, but Doc didn’t know that.

Webber took that as an invitation to shake Joker’s hand. “Bruce Wayne, of course. Name’s Webber, but please, call me Doc. Pleasure to meet you.” Webber didn’t sound all too thrilled, however. As he released Joker’s hand, Bruce noticed that he had left a painful-looking white mark.

Joker didn’t flinch, keeping up his welcoming smile. “The pleasure’s all mine. I don’t know what the both of you discussed beforehand, but I hope that we can come to an understanding. Ah, Alfred, would you be a doll and bring us some tea?”

Alfred glared at him. “Certainly, _sir_. I’ll be right back,” he said sarcastically and left the room. Bruce didn’t know whether to be irritated at the clown for commanding him around or if he should be relieved that Alfred wouldn’t have to witness whatever Joker had planned next.

“Why don’t we sit down?” Joker suggested, still wearing that saccharine expression on his face. Bruce inwardly rolled his eyes. Sure, he put on a very different mask for when he was Bruce Wayne, the billionaire and playboy, but still. It’s not like he did that just to please people. Bruce Wayne was as much a part of him as Batman, but since Joker only knew him from newspapers and billboards, he probably had a twisted image of him. He could count himself lucky that Webber also didn’t know him personally, meaning that Joker’s part would be a lot easier to play.

Webber regarded Joker skeptically but then decided to sit down.

Thinking that the clown would sit on the opposite side of the couch, Bruce leaned over to grab the bag with the suit he had dropped there to make some space. He flinched as a heavy weight suddenly squeezed in the tight space between himself and the other side of the couch. He was about to get up when a hand forcefully grabbed his shoulder and kept him locked in place.

Bruce looked to his right, and sure enough, there was Joker, almost sitting in his lap. He would’ve pushed him away forcefully, had he not remembered the situation they were in at the last second. Was this just Joker messing with him again, or was this really necessary for his plan?

Joker watched him closely, and when he sensed that Bruce wouldn’t run away as soon as he let him go, he released his shoulder from his grip. He still didn’t pull his hand away though, but instead started patting lightly on his shirt, as if to smooth out any creases. Then he slowly leaned forward, until his mouth was just inches away from Bruce’s ear. “Good boy,” he whispered, his breath tickling Bruce’s side. “Now, as I said, just play along. It’ll be alright.”

As he leaned back, he simultaneously let his hand wander up Bruce’s neck, the cold touches sending pleasant shivers down his spine, until Joker’s fingers found their way into his now green strands of hair. He pressed down gently, then lifted his hand again to catch a curl between his digits and twist it this way and that, before moving on to the next one.

Bruce never expected that Joker could be so gentle. At first, he tensed up, his mind expecting the clown to snap any second. He’d violently pull his head down, his hands still twisted in his hair. Or maybe he’d suddenly try to strangle him.

But none of that happened. The thought occurred to him that it was probably this body reacting to Batman’s, but he couldn’t help but relax as Joker continued to gently massage his scalp. _I need to stay alert_ , Bruce thought as he felt his eyes flutter shut, sinking deeper into the sensation.

Doc awkwardly cleared his throat. “Uhm, boss …?”

It took Bruce a few seconds to register that Webber was speaking to him. “What is it, Doc?” he said, trying to ignore Joker gently pulling on his hair strands. Damn it, if only the clown had told him of his plan before he could’ve been more prepared. _Genuine reaction, as if_ , he thought angrily. Joker just wanted to tease him, that’s all there was to it.

Bruce had an idea where exactly he was going with this, and he certainly didn’t like it. On the other hand, he still couldn’t think of an alternative, so he begrudgingly decided to roll with it. Nevertheless, Joker’s plan was quite ingenious, he had to admit. If Webber believed them, he would make certain that this information would never reach anyone’s ears.

Webber uncomfortably shifted on the couch he was sitting on. “I know it’s probably not my place to ask, but, uh … what exactly are you doing here?” His eyes flickered over to Joker, clear confusion showing on his face, before returning to Bruce. “Is Wayne a new, y’know, associate for our line of work, or …,” he gesticulated uncertainly, clearly thrown off already by Joker’s actions.

Now that he was feeling relatively relaxed, Bruce managed to get out a small chuckle. “Come on, Doc, I expected more of you. Guess again?”

“I- I don’t think…” Webber was clearly struggling to find the right choice of words. Bruce couldn’t help but pity the man. When he had asked to speak with them, he had expected to find that Joker and Bruce Wayne were maybe somehow working together, that he had hired Joker to get rid of his political enemies for example. Instead, he had stuck his nose into a personal matter of his boss, and that never went well.

“Aw, don’t leave the poor man hanging like that, _Mr. J_ ,” Joker said, clearly enjoying himself way too much for Bruce’s comfort. “We agreed we’d tell him the truth, right? I really don’t want to wake up tomorrow to a headline saying: ‘Wayne plans to take over Gotham with the help of the Harlequin of Hate’. So, will you tell him, or should I?” Joker put his head on Bruce’s shoulder, blinking at him innocently from under his eyelashes.

Ugh, of course he would make him say it. “I guess you could say that we’re sort of in a re-”

“Yeah, we’re totally screwing,” Joker interrupted.

“Ah,” Webber said after a moment of silence.

Alfred chose this moment to return to the dining hall, pushing a trolley of tea and biscuits. “Your tea, as requested, Master-,“ he stopped short when he spotted Joker practically clinging to Bruce, his eyes widening in shock.

“The butler has returned! We were just starting to miss you,” Joker smiled, pulling his hand out of Bruce’s hair and placing it on his thigh instead. Bruce was torn between swatting his hand away or keeping up his act. Joker was certainly pushing his limits here, knowing that Bruce had to play along.

Alfred’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t comment on their current position. He swiftly placed the food he brought on the coffee table between them, hurried to escape whatever he had just walked into. Bruce couldn’t blame him.

Webber’s eyes followed Alfred as he shut the door behind him just a bit louder than necessary.

“Please forgive his temper, he’s not a big fan of our, hm, current arrangement,” Joker said.

“I see,” Webber said, still a bit unsure of what exactly had just happened. “Boss, can I,” he shot Joker a confused look, “can I talk to you for a sec? In private?”

Bruce wasn’t too keen on having Joker roam freely in the Manor, so he’d have to pass on that one. “Anything you’re about to say, you can say in front of sweet cheeks here.” He cringed at the nickname, and he could feel Joker beside him shaking softly as he was trying to hide his laughter.

“Oh. Uhm, okay, I guess. Just, I didn’t think we were running that low on cash for you to, uh,” he stopped himself there, once again nervously fiddling with his tie. “What I’m saying is, I can always plan another heist or-”

“Okay, okay, no, I get where you’re coming from, Doc,” Bruce quickly interrupted, before Webber really started planning a bank robbery on his behalf. He was still at a bit of a loss though. Only Joker knew how much money he had stashed away in all kinds of locations. Hell, the clown himself probably didn’t have a clear picture of his own finances, so how was Bruce about to justify the crazy plan they had just presented to Webber?

“Hm, even your … _exciting_ life must get a bit boring after doing things over and over again, right?” Joker cut in, letting Bruce off the hook once more. “I mean, just look at me! I’m a billionaire playboy! I got everything I want, and yet,” he turned towards Bruce, his eyes piercing through him even when lacking their acidic green, “I’m just longing for something a bit … _different_.” The hand on his thigh squeezed it just a bit tighter, and Bruce had to forcefully tear his eyes away from Joker's.

Webber furrowed his brow and pondered about Joker’s suggestion, stroking his beard in thought. Then a sudden realization hit him, but the surprise evident on his face quickly turned to what could only be described as … sadness?

“Y’know that you can trust me, right boss?” he said, turning to Bruce. “What I said earlier, that I was worried about you, I wasn’t lying. Ah, what the hell, pretty sure the boys are all worried about you, not just little ol’ me. They’ve been coming to me, askin’ just what’s taking so long-”

“ _Sorr-y_ to interrupt, but I’ve been asking myself the same thing,” Joker suddenly chimed in, ignoring the angry look that Webber shot him for talking over him. “It’s been fun, but I’m a rather busy man as you might know. So, let’s cut right to the chase: Do we have your word that you won’t say anything about this to anyone?”

Webber crossed his arms. “Of course.”

Bruce let out a small sigh of relief he had been holding. He wasn’t sure why everyone was suddenly so worried about Joker, or why the clown apparently didn’t want to talk about it, but at least his plan had worked. Somehow. He was missing a few details, but he’d ask Joker later to fill him in.

“Great, so we’re done here,” Joker announced, already getting up from his seat. He rolled his eyes when Webber didn’t move a muscle. “I’m sorry, is there something else bothering you?”

“Actually, when you’re askin’ like that, yeah. But it really isn’t of your concern, so I guess I’ll just keep it for later,” Webber retorted, clearly miffed about Joker’s behavior. “Still, there’s something else I came here for,” he added, gesturing at the bag with the suits laying next to Bruce. “There’s also a burner phone in there. It’s got some pictures and info that should be pretty useful to you, boss.” He gave him a short nod.

“Thanks, Doc,” Bruce said, wondering just what kind of intel he had gathered for Joker. He looked over his shoulder, where the clown was impatiently tapping his foot on the floor as if he really was late for an important business meeting. “I’ll catch up with you later,” Bruce added, rolling his eyes at Joker.

Noticing the gesture, Webber shot Bruce a knowing smirk. “Sure thing, boss.”

* * *

Bruce and Joker were already back in the cave when Alfred texted him that he had successfully escorted Webber out of the Manor. Bruce sent him a quick, “Thanks, Al,” and focused back on Joker. He had handcuffed him once again, but the clown had simply ignored him. Now he was pacing up and down, apparently still just as annoyed by Webber as he had been by him. Bruce thought it a bit amusing that he was getting along way better with the henchman than Joker himself. Wait, was that also a side effect of their switch? Ugh, he didn’t even know anymore.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Bruce asked when the silence was stretching uncomfortably long.

“About Doc worrying about me?” Joker stopped, turning on his heel to face Bruce. “Oh, come on Bats, don’t be such a fool. He and the others don’t worry about _me_. All they’re worried about is the damn money, and maybe a cheap thrill or two.”

Bruce kind of figured that, even if he thought that Webber had sounded pretty sincere in the end. Still, Joker had always been incredibly suspicious of anyone telling him they cared about him, so he didn’t expect any other reaction from him. It was rather sad. Bruce had often wondered what had happened in Joker’s past to break his trust to, well anyone, really, so dramatically.

“I wasn’t talking about Webber …,” he trailed off when Joker shot him an angry look and started pacing again. Well, he had tested the waters to see if maybe Joker trusted him enough to tell him, but evidently that was not the case. So much for filling in the missing details. Still, he didn’t want to probe further, or all he’d achieve would be to enrage the clown even more.

“So, you’re positive that Webber will keep tight about everything?”

“Oh, he’ll keep that secret like his life would depend on it. Which it does,” Joker snickered. “If any of the other gang’s just get so much as a whiff of the rumor that I’m essentially prostituting myself, they’ll attack like sharks smelling wounded prey. By the way Bats, I really saved your hide back there … don’t you think that a little ‘thank you’ would be in order?” Joker grinned, having all but forgotten about his sour mood now that he could pester Bruce again.

“I don’t remember agreeing to any deal,” Bruce countered. He grabbed the bag Webber had given him and pulled out the purple suit, laying it across the back of a chair. Next, he pulled out the burner phone Webber had promised him. He gave it a quick once-over but spotted nothing out of the ordinary.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head, dear, I’ll think of something,” Joker replied, completely ignoring the point. He joined Bruce at his side and curiously peeked over his shoulder down at the phone. “I just hope he didn’t send me nudes again, I told him I only have eyes for you,” he giggled when Bruce actually paused, before letting out an irritated sigh and switching on the phone.

There were three messages. He clicked on them: The first one was a picture of a woman standing behind a window. The quality wasn’t the best, but Bruce could guess from the way that there was no reflection caught by the camera that there was in fact no glass left in the window frame. The woman’s face was harder to make out, but he could see that she had a darker skin color and black hair tied back into a bun.

He scrolled down and saw that the picture came with an address. Somewhere in the Kingston district on Miagani Island, if he was remembering correctly.

When he got to the last message, his eyes widened in surprise.

_I sent one of the boys to the place you were staking out. he managed to get a picture of her after you were sent to the asylum, and followed her to her apartment (see address)_

_good luck – Doc_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was fun to write, I hope you had fun too ;D 
> 
> I still got two chapters to outline the whole plot, but then I can pretty much put these two into any setting I want. I got a lot of ideas already in my mind, but if you want to add any body switch prompts I'd be happy to hear them!
> 
> Stay safe everyone! Cheers! <3
> 
> Art for this chapter: [Isaac Webber](https://thescarypaper.tumblr.com/post/616475944332460032/isaac-webber-aka-doc) as well as this [beautiful piece](https://gothbus.tumblr.com/post/618672826909671424/pet-me-or-all-the-kiddies-at-gotham-elementary) inspired by this fic drawn by the wonderful gothbus!


	6. I am who I am, no one else can be me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been looking forward to posting this chapter, I hope y'all don't mind a bit of sci-fi!
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> [chapter title: [Limbs](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B3SDsBKVn2I) by Bones UK]

“Why, would you look at that, Doc’s good for something after all! That woman’s gotta be the culprit behind the whole switcheroo. Just wait here a minute, I’ll go and grab my suit,” Joker grinned, already on his way to the showcases. “Now which one should I choose …,” he mumbled, walking up and down and tapping his index finger thoughtfully on his bottom lip.

“None,” Bruce said, crossing his arms. He’d not let the Joker run around in his armor, not if he could help it. Sure, he could take all the equipment away, which would make the whole get-up a lot less deadly, but the suit itself remained a dangerous weapon when used right.

Joker turned around to face him, pouting like a little kid that he had just taken its favorite toy from. “But Baaats-”

“I’ll let you wear the mask, but that’s it.” He’d have to give the clown that, to protect his own identity. He didn’t know if the woman had seen them, but he wouldn’t take any risks. Bruce wanted this to go as smoothly as possible from now on. He had already seen himself spending months in Joker’s body, just because he wasn’t able to track down whoever had been capable of doing this to them, but now he was drawing new hope from the new information. If Webber’s source was correct, they’d just been given a huge advantage, and he would not allow it to slip through his fingers.

“Do I really have to call in that favor you owe me already?” Joker asked, putting one hand on his hips, the other arm awkwardly dangling in the air due to the handcuffs. Bruce rolled his eyes. He really didn’t have time for one of the clown’s tantrums now, but he figured that Joker wouldn’t give up until he got what he wanted. A compromise then.

“Okay, you know what? You can wear one of the older models,” he yielded, hoping that that was enough. His first suits didn’t have as many functions integrated into them and wouldn’t protect Joker as much from Bruce’s punches, should he try anything.

Joker excitedly clapped his hands together, “Going old-school, are we? I love it!”

Bruce opened one of the showcases and pulled out the Batsuit, draping it over one arm. He was surprised at how light it was; with all the additional armor plates and gadgets, his newest suit had become rather heavy. Maybe he should consider leaving a few things in the cave to get his flexibility back.

Still pondering over his options, he turned back to hand the suit to Joker. And almost would’ve dropped it right there when he looked back at the clown. Bruce did a double-take, to see if he wasn’t just imagining things, but no, Joker had indeed let his pants slide down to his ankles and was now clumsily trying to remove his pullover as well. “What-”

“Care to give me a hand here?” Joker requested, shaking the handcuffs at him. A mischievous grin spread over his face as he saw Bruce blinking rapidly, clearly thrown off. “I understood that we were a bit in a hurry,” he shrugged. “Also, this is your body, so you really shouldn’t look at me like that. Oh, I see, you’re a narcissist! Sorry, I didn’t know,” he chuckled when Bruce reflexively looked to the side. “Honestly though, I do kind of need your help here. Dislocating your own thumb to get out of handcuffs isn’t really that fun. Now dislocating someone else’s …”

Bruce gritted his teeth in annoyance. Joker had been behaving surprisingly well the whole night, so he had even considered giving Joker one of his undersuits that protected him from the rougher inside of the armor. Well, Joker had just proven to him that he’d rather have the raw experience during his first time.

 _In the Batsuit. First time in the Batsuit_ , he added hastily. God, he hoped Joker’s intoxication with him wasn’t starting to seep into his own thoughts.

He quickly searched for the keys in his pocket and grabbed the clown’s wrists, ignoring Joker smirking seductively at him. Dammit, this was his own body standing in front of him, he shouldn’t be affected by it. The body he was currently inhabiting was decisively not sharing his opinion, however. _So much for the saying “the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak_ ”, Bruce thought in frustration.

But he just couldn’t ignore his heart skipping a beat when Joker’s fingers lightly fluttered over his own. The light blush creeping up on his face when Joker further leaned into his touch. Weird, he didn’t even know that Joker could blush. He just hoped the pale skin wouldn’t betray him now.

Bruce managed to unlock the cuffs and hurriedly pulled away before Joker could try anything else. Ignoring his knowing smirk, Bruce grabbed the pair of boots as well as the gloves and held them awkwardly, waiting for Joker to finish putting on the Batsuit.

He was already preparing himself mentally for Joker to abuse the situation further, like asking him to help put on the suit. Which wasn’t that easy, if you had never done it before, Bruce had to admit. To his surprise, Joker only hesitated for a few moments, before expertly following the exact steps Bruce always went through.

 _Well, that would explain how he found his way down here_ , Bruce thought, handing the rest of the suit to Joker. Just like himself, Joker had inherited some of Bruce’s memory. Bruce didn’t exactly approve of that; it meant that Joker would be a lot harder to take down than he had originally anticipated, if his muscle memory extended to Bruce’s fighting style. He hoped that he wouldn’t have to test that theory.

He unhooked the mask from the showcase but decided to keep it for a few moments before giving the last piece to Joker. He thoughtfully studied it, the empty holes of the mask staring back at him. Just what was he doing here? Handing out his suit, his cowl, a part of _himself_. His grip tightened around the piece of Kevlar.

Fingers clad in cold fabric were placed on his, and gently started loosening his grasp. “Bats, you know that’s just a piece of plastic, right?” Joker chuckled, pulling the mask out his hands. Bruce narrowed his eyes, already opening his mouth to protest when Joker continued. “Okay, I get it, it’s a symbol, yadda yadda. But it’s not _you_ , right? It’s a tool you use.” He pulled the cowl over his head, letting the small hinges click into place.

The voice changer had activated automatically, and Bruce was hit with the full impression of his alter ego standing right in front of him. “I’m not Batman,” Joker growled at him but quickly broke out into a giggle at his own stupid joke. It sounded quite bizarre through the voice modifier, but for once Joker’s laugh let Bruce relax. The clown might just be right this time. That was still Joker in there, and he was still Batman, even if the suit temporarily was just a bit too burly and a few inches too short for him to wear.

“Come on, we should get going,” Bruce said, stepping towards the elevator.

“We’re not taking the Batmobile?” the disappointment was evident in Joker’s voice, but Bruce shook his head. “Too much attention. Having you run around in the full suit is already risky, but we should be able to avoid people by keeping to the shadows.”

“Always thinking ahead, aren’t you? Okay then, let’s get this show on the road!”

* * *

The trip to the apartment in Kingston was rather uneventful, apart from Bruce unsuccessfully trying to block out Joker’s endless babbling. Bruce parked the inconspicuous car – he had chosen an older model with dark tinted windows – in an empty alley. They had caught a good time, too late for even the toughest party animals and too early for joggers and morning shift workers. It was also in the middle of the week, so the streets of Gotham were almost empty.

Kingston District was mostly comprised of small shops and entertainment facilities, but the top floors were regularly used for housing. The address Webber had given them pointed to a donut shop near the Ranelagh Ferry Terminal. They hadn’t been the most creative with their name as the sign over the entrance simply spelled “Donuts” in bright yellow letters. On top of that, the owner had mounted an enormous pink donut to the wall, so that no one in a hundred-mile radius would miss it. Well, it certainly did the job, as even at this time of night a few people were waiting outside to get their morning snack.

“We’ll use the stairs in the back,” Bruce said, looking over his shoulder at Joker. He had left him unchained after a few moments of hesitation since he had ultimately concluded that if Joker had wanted to escape, he would've already done so. He wasn’t so foolish as to trust the clown, but the circumstances had left them in a forced stalemate for now.

“Great plan! Oh, and then I’ll smash through the window, and you kick the door open at the same time. That’ll get her rattled,” Joker suggested, already on his way to the stairs.

“Or,” Bruce said, placing one hand on Joker’s shoulder and pushing him back behind him, “we could just ring the doorbell.”

“Or we could just ring the doorbell,” Joker mumbled, imitating him in a mocking tone.

They reached the top of the building shortly after, and like most buildings in Gotham, the external staircase was connected to each floor. Bruce pulled out a small lock pick, knelt down in front of the door, and got to work. It didn’t take long until he heard a satisfying clicking sound. “Someone’s been practicing! Hm, did Alfred lock up your video games one too many times?”

“Alfred taught me how to lockpick,” Bruce replied, not entirely sure why he would tell that to Joker. It made him feel uncomfortable to hear him talk about Alfred so nonchalantly.

“Huh,” Joker said. “Well, no wonder you wound up dressing up as a bat with that sort of upbringing.”

Bruce rolled his eyes and slowly pushed the door open, listening for any sounds. When he had assured himself that they were alone, he slipped through the door and made his way over to the apartment number Webber had texted him, Joker trailing behind him, and rang the doorbell.

When several seconds had passed without anyone answering he could sense Joker getting fidgety, tapping his foot on the floor. Suddenly, his hand darted forward, trying to press the button again, but Bruce was quicker and grabbed his arm. “Help! I’m being manhandled-,” Joker exclaimed and Bruce hastily put his free hand over his mouth, trying to silence the clown, hoping that nobody had heard him. “Can’t you be quiet for just a _few minutes_ ,” Bruce hissed in his ear, but promptly had to suppress a cry when Joker had the gall to bite him in his hand.

Adrenaline pumping through his veins, he prepared himself for the fight he had been expecting since the beginning. Damn it, they were so close, why did Joker have to act up now of all times?

He was just readying a punch when the door in front of them opened.

“I’m sorry, can I help you with something?” said the woman standing in the doorframe in a drowsy voice, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “It’s still a bit early don’t you think …,” she trailed off when she spotted them, Bruce’s hand still locked in between Joker’s teeth. She blinked slowly. Then her eyes suddenly widened, realizing that it was, in fact, not a dream.

“Oh,” she said.

“Ohhh,” she repeated, the situation finally catching up to her.

Bruce shot Joker an angry look and the clown released his hand, grinning at him innocently. “Well, at least it got her attention.”

Massaging his hurting hand, he eyed the woman. He estimated her to be around forty, and just like in the photo, she had her black hair tied back into a bun, although it looked a lot messier now. She had hastily thrown on a jacket over her nightgown, and dark rings were evident on her face. Nevertheless, her eyes were quickly growing more and more alert as the gears in her head started turning.

“Can we come in? I believe we have a lot to talk about,” Bruce said, crossing his arms. He was trying not to let his emotions get the better of him. After all, he didn’t have clear evidence yet that this woman was indeed responsible for their precarious situation.

“I- … Uhm …,” she stammered, her eyes rapidly switching from Bruce to Joker and back.

Joker put a hand on her shoulder, and gently but steadily pushed her back into the apartment. “I think that was a rhetorical question, sweetie.”

Bruce followed them into the room and closed the door behind him. She didn’t look like she would put up a fight, but if she tried to run, he was positive that he’d be able to catch her. There wasn’t much room in here, and apart from the door he was blocking there were just a few windows. He doubted that she’d be so foolish as to escape through them though; they were on the top floor after all.

He shot a quick glance around the apartment, trying to take in every little detail. It really was small; the kitchen, living room and bed were all crammed into one room, while another door supposedly led into the bathroom. Bruce looked around, trying to find anything that would point to her being the culprit, but he found nothing. It just gave the impression of a comfy little apartment in the middle of Kingston. Not at all like an evil lair. He even had to admit that she had an enviable view of the Lady of Gotham and the Clock Tower, Barbara’s home.

Joker flopped down on an old armchair that had been stuffed into one corner, letting his legs dangle over the armrest. The woman retreated to the other side of the room, nervously fiddling with the hem of her jacket. Then she took a deep breath, assembling her courage, and cleared her throat. “Batman … such an … such an honor to meet you,” she said, turning towards Joker. Bruce noticed that she had a slight accent, somewhere from East Europe.

The clown, however, was apparently busy trying to find the best position on the chair, finally settling with an upside-down position that didn’t look comfortable to Bruce at all; his legs were sticking in the air, while his head was hanging down, almost touching the floor.

“Oh, sorry, you talking to me?” Joker asked, craning his neck to look at her. “As you can see, I’m just trying to get into my natural element as a flying rodent, don’t mind me,” he giggled, his face turning redder with every passing second.

“We know you were there,” Bruce said, ignoring Joker’s theatrics. “Were you the one that caused this … switch?” He held up his phone and studied her face as he showed her the photo Webber had sent them. To his surprise, she merely glanced at the photo before letting out a resigned sigh.

“I guess I won’t get away with that one, huh?” she groaned, massaging the bridge of her nose. Her whole demeanor suddenly changed as she dropped the act of the confused and scared woman. Bruce was sure that they had indeed found the one responsible for the switch, and he prepared himself to intervene, should she draw a weapon on them. From the corner of his eyes, he registered that Joker had turned around again, his fingers twitching slightly as the tension in the room rose.

“I’m just glad you’re both okay,” she said, a smile unexpectedly appearing on her face, apparently oblivious of the strained atmosphere.

“Okay? You call this _okay?_ ” Joker snarled, jumping up from his seat. Bruce put a hand in front of his chest, sending him a warning look. “Ugh, just stop it! Come on, I’m sure you want to punch her as much as I do for what she’s done!” Joker glared at him, trying to slip through under his arm.

Bruce managed to catch him by the ears of the cowl, forcibly pulling him back. The clown hissed at him, struggling against his grip. “Dammit Joker!” Bruce growled, pushing him onto the floor. He had to put his whole weight into holding him down, as he was so much lighter than Joker now. “She may be the only person that can help us right now, do you really want to waste that? I thought you were on my side for once.”

“I _am_ ,” Joker glared at him, but at least he had ceased to struggle against his grip. “ _Fine then_ , we’ll do things your way.”

Bruce stood up and waited until Joker had retaken his seat on the armchair, before turning back to the woman. She had taken out a small notepad in the meantime and was hastily scribbling something down. Bruce shook his head in disbelief. Was she seriously taking notes on them right now? “Could you stop that?”

The woman looked up in surprise. “Oh, you’re finished. Good. Sorry, how rude of me, it’s an annoying habit, I know,” she said, shrugging. “Speaking of rude, I haven’t even introduced myself yet! Dr. Sofia Cuţov, but please, call me Sofia.” She stretched out a hand to Bruce, who crossed his arms in return.

“You should be glad that I’m not taking you straight to Blackgate,” Bruce said, gritting his teeth at the carefree behavior Cuţov was displaying. “I think Arkham would be a better fit for that one,” Joker commented, “she’s obviously delusional if she thinks that she’s gonna get out this alive.”

Bruce took a few steps forward until he was menacingly towering over her. She was no small woman, but Joker’s height was hard to surpass. “You will reverse this,” he demanded, watching as Cuţov finally showed some signs of intimidation.

She held up her hands in surrender, trying to appease him. “Look, I know you’re probably pretty pissed at me, but can I just say that I really didn’t want this to happen?”

Joker let out an incredulous laugh. “Well, _newsflash_ , whatever you _wanted_ to do, it turned out like this. Now _fix it_.”

“If you’d let me finish then you’d know that that’s what I’m planning to do!” she heatedly shot back at Joker, who returned it with an equally angry glare. “If you could just-,” she grumbled, waving her hands at Bruce, telling him to back off. Bruce couldn’t help but be impressed by her courage. Or was she just foolish? No, she didn’t have that impression on him. She knew that they needed her, that they couldn’t touch her for now. She was in full control here, and Bruce begrudgingly stepped a few feet back. She had stated that she wanted to help them though. He just hoped that it didn’t come with any catch.

“Thank you,” she nodded at Bruce. “So, just that we’re clear, I _want_ to help you,” she paused. Bruce dreaded what she’d say next. There was always a catch.

“But I don’t know if I _can_.”

“What do you mean?” Bruce asked, his heart rate increasing. That’s it. He’d be stuck in Joker’s body forever. “What do you mean, you _don’t know_ ,” he snapped, annoyed that his voice had risen a few tones, revealing his panic. His eyes flickered over to Joker, who was staring at Cuţov, lost in thought.

“Ugh, this is a mess.” Sofia slowly massaged her temples. “It’s … a bit complicated.”

“Then explain it to us,” Bruce growled.

“Right. Uh … why don’t we start at the beginning,” she said, leaning against the kitchen counter, preparing herself for a longer explanation. “You broke into my lab. And then you touched … something?” she inquired, shooting a questioning look at them both. “I basically rigged my whole lab with sensors, so that if anyone would touch anything, like one of my devices, they’d get a good shock that’d knock anyone out.” When she saw Bruce raising his eyebrows, Cuţov crossed her arms. “What? This is Gotham. You of all people should know that you’d better prepare for the worst. And look at what happened.”

Bruce couldn’t disagree with her on that one. If only Joker had left her stuff alone, he could’ve come back later to catch and interrogate Cuţov. Bruce turned his head towards him. “Oh, don’t give me that crap,” Joker snarled at him. “You’re accusing _me_ now? I just hit this stupid red button, don’t hold me to account for what happened after.”

“Red button?” Cuţov contemplated. “So that’s why the EMP was already activated when I arrived.”

“An EMP?” Bruce asked, bewildered. She had so much electronic equipment in that room, why go through the hassle to build in an EMP?

On the other hand, his Batsuit was also highly sensitive to anything that could disrupt the circuitry inside. He had taken as many precautions as he could against EMPs of course, but his communication devices were still vulnerable. Dammit. That also meant nobody had received the message that he had fallen unconscious. Which then followed the conclusion that they had been at her mercy much longer than Bruce had originally thought.

“Did you conduct an experiment on us after you found us in your lab, unconscious?” Bruce asked through gritted teeth, barely able to contain his anger. She had taken absolute advantage of the situation. After her previous statements Bruce had thought that maybe it had really been an accident, that somehow the button Joker had pressed was the cause of all this. But no, Cuţov had made the conscious decision to _use_ them for her own sick experiment, whatever she had been trying to do. He clenched his fists, stepping closer to her again.

“I know how this sounds,” she said, backing away from him. “If you’d just let me explain-” She stopped when she suddenly bumped into Joker, who had gotten up from his seat and was now glaring down at her as well. Bruce had to admit that he was making a fairly good impression of Batman at that moment.

“Oh, it better be good. I’m not the biggest fan of people uninvitedly _poking at my brain_ , who would’ve thought,” Joker sarcastically hissed in her ear.

Cuţov pressed her eyes together and took a deep breath to calm herself down. Bruce gave a short nod to Joker, asking him to back down a bit. The clown narrowed his eyes but, to Bruce’s relief, did as told. Sure, Bruce was furious at Cuţov right now, but he at least wanted to hear her explanation before … well, he still wouldn’t be able to lock her up after this, not until she fixed what she had done.

“Listen, I would never do something twisted like that on purpose,” Sofia said, slumping down on her bed. “I now know that it was a mistake, what I did. I- I told you before, I’m glad to see you’re … well, okay isn’t the right word, but you’re not …,” she trailed off, her hands gesticulating wildly, trying to search for the right word.

“We’re not _dead_ , you mean,” Joker helped her out. “Well, fucking congratulations, sweetie. Good job.”

“Why’d you do it then?” Bruce inquired. Things didn’t add up for him. Here she was, trying to convince them that she meant no harm when she obviously knew that it could’ve very well killed them.

“The opportunity was just too good!” she blurted out. “You were practically delivered to me on a silver plate! Also, you’re Batman! And, even better, you’re Joker!” she said, turning to the clown, the excitement pushing her previous signs of anxiety back.

Joker blinked in surprise. “Well, not what I expected as an excuse, but I’m afraid flattery won’t get you very far.”

Cuţov waved her hand at him in dismissal. “That’s not what I’m talking about. Your _brain chemistry_. I mean, any scientist would love to take a peek at those brains. You were perfect for my first study since you’re so different from each other. Like yin and yang, being mortal enemies and all that,” she said, but the way she told it, ‘mortal enemies’ sounded more like the healthy relationship anyone should strive for. “Had the experiment only succeeded … they would’ve had to believe me. Admit that I was _right_ all along. And I know I am, I wouldn’t have tested it on you otherwise,” she claimed confidently.

The woman was absolutely delusional. As if a human experiment would’ve turned the opinion of anyone around, however genius the idea was. All it would’ve gotten her was a ticket straight to Arkham.

“I would’ve omitted you guys from the whole report of course. I just needed the data to complete my model, that’s all,” she added hurriedly, noticing Bruce’s doubtful look. So, she did consider that, after all.

“Then what went wrong? You say that it would’ve worked, yet here we are,” Bruce said, pointing vaguely at himself and Joker.

Her gaze darkened. “I got interrupted. Before I could … switch you back. The EMP stopped working for a second, maybe because I had it running for so long, but that was enough time to alarm-”

“Nightwing,” Bruce realized, rubbing his brow with the palm of his hand, feeling a headache coming on. “So, if Nightwing hadn’t interrupted you, we would’ve been fine?” He sighed when Cuţov nodded. Dammit. But there was no way Dick could’ve known.

“See? I told you to get rid of your annoying bird before, now look at the mess he made,” Joker said disapprovingly.

Bruce rolled his eyes at him. Of course, Joker would use every opportunity to criticize Nightwing. “At least he doesn’t go around pressing every random button he can find.”

Joker chuckled. “True that.”

Bruce now had a pretty good idea of what events had taken place that night. Still, he was missing some crucial information. “So, why can’t you reverse what you did? I understand that the experiment failed somehow, but … what was it about anyway?”

Sofia’s eyes lit up at that. “Do you want to hear the short version or the long one? Although for the long one we’d probably be sitting here for a few hours …”

“Please, the short one,” Joker groaned, letting himself fall onto the bed next to Cuţov, his weight making her bounce slightly.

“Make it short, but don’t leave anything out,” Bruce added. Maybe he could ask Barbara to help Sofia out, but for that, he’d need to know if it even fit Oracle’s expertise. Well, and he smiled at the thought, Barbara would certainly make it fit.

Cuţov rubbed her hands together, probably thrilled that she got to tell her theories to someone who was actually listening. Bruce had to admit that he was indeed extremely curious about getting to know how she had managed this switch. He had witnessed a lot of crazy things in his lifetime, but this was straight out of a science-fiction novel.

“Now, where to start … Oh, I know,” Sofia began. “I’m sure you heard the saying that you learn best when you’re still a kid, right? In your childhood, you have a lot of so-called critical periods, windows of opportunities opening, during which your environment has an immense influence on your development. Well, those windows of opportunity do indeed close after a while, mainly when you’re an adult, but it’s not like your brain structure is fixed from then on. It’s still flexible, maybe not as much as in your childhood, but you can still learn new things. It just requires a bit more time. This flexibility is called neuroplasticity, and this is where it gets interesting,” she grinned. Bruce wasn’t sure if he liked that grin.

“What if we could,” she paused dramatically, “open up those windows again? Regain this superior plasticity?” She looked at Bruce, and when she got no reaction out of him, turned to Joker, who was pretending to be asleep. Cuţov rolled her eyes and stood up, starting to pace around the room as she explained further, “The possibilities would be immense! Just think of all the neurological diseases we could attempt to cure with that! Alzheimer’s, depression. We could have better recovery methods for strokes, even reverse some forms of blindness! Or, I don’t know, help people get through traumatic experiences in a healthier way, I could go on and on.”

Bruce had to agree, that did sound pretty great. On the other hand, there had been several miracle cure-all’s throughout history, and they tended to be more deadly than anything else.

“Wait, can we rewind a bit?” Joker suddenly cut in, propping himself up on his elbows. “When you said that we could regain that plasticity or whatever, does that mean … you managed to find something that could actually do that?”

Sofia sighed, her enthusiasm for the topic receding. “I’m not the first to experiment with neuroplasticity. There have been studies about certain psychostimulants being able to change your brain, and studies about manipulating specific molecular cues to get back to that flexible brain children possess. I just … I …,” she trailed off. Then she shook her head.

“No, you need to know. To be honest, I was quite shocked when I saw you two standing in front of my door. I don’t know what I had expected. When you said you had switched … I mean, it’s the most logical explanation, but it’s … it hurts my head just thinking about what that means. What it means to be human. What it says about our identity, and who we really are.”

“What are you talking about?” Bruce asked, the heaviness of her words making him feel deeply uncomfortable. He wasn’t sure if he wanted an answer to his question, but he needed to know.

Sofia looked up at him, her eyes almost pleading. “I found something that can increase someone’s plasticity to the point it can be freely manipulated. There was no _switch_ , at least not in that sense. I just rewired your brains.”

“You’re still Joker,” she said, looking at Bruce. “Your brain just thinks you’re Batman.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is kind of the heart of the idea for this fanfiction, just me thinking about a scientific explanation for a body switch scenario. I'm a huge science nerd and I really hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I did writing it! I did a lot of research about neuroplasticity (if you want to know more about it, check out this [talk](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=59ODYOaUbX4)), and everything explained here is real, just overly exaggerated of course.
> 
> On a side note, I'm studying biology (and want to go into the neurological research field who would've guessed heh) and I'll have to write an essay soon on the ethics of neuroenhancement ... whoops. Ahem, PSA: Don't do experiments on unwilling people, friends!
> 
> Cheers!
> 
> P.S.: If you played/watched Arkham Knight you know over which donut shop Sofia lives. (Seriously, who designed that thing.)
> 
> Art for this chapter: Art for this chapter: this [lovely piece](https://asgardiantimelady.tumblr.com/post/620290303635668993/sooo-this-is-actually-the-first-time-im) done by asgardiantimelady (still puts a huge smile on my face every time I look at it!), as well as [Dr. Sofia Cuţov](https://thescarypaper.tumblr.com/post/618532173421707264/dr-sofia-cu%C5%A3ov-from-chapter-6-of-my-batjokes) and [that scene](https://thescarypaper.tumblr.com/post/618532381324935168/sketch-from-a-scene-from-chapter-6-from-my) done by me


	7. That purple touch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy Hole in a Donut!  
> Thank you all so much for the overwhelming love the last chapter received, I was quite blown away! I feel like this is actually starting to become a team effort, and I'm overjoyed to have you all here supporting this <3
> 
> Speaking of team effort, this story is now being beta-read by none other than the wonderful [Wizard_of_Ozzie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wizard_of_Ozzie/pseuds/Wizard_of_Ozzie)!  
> Also, please check out this beautiful [piece of art](https://gothbus.tumblr.com/post/618672826909671424/pet-me-or-all-the-kiddies-at-gotham-elementary) inspired by chapter 5 drawn by the even more beautiful gothbus!
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> [chapter title: [Your Love (Déjà Vu)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LjPStHTWr4I) by Glass Animals]

“You’re still Joker,” Sofia said, looking at the man in Joker’s body. “Your brain just thinks you’re Batman.”

Batman stared at her with doubt-filled green eyes. He sat down on the edge of the bed, next to Joker. Batman was trying to keep a steady face, but the corners of his lips were twitching slightly, betraying him. Joker knew exactly what that meant. He was trying not to break out into laughter, so that he wouldn’t lose himself in it like before. Joker couldn’t blame Batman for wanting to laugh. As far as he was concerned, what Sofia had proposed to them was preposterous.

“You know what? I’m calling bullshit on that one,” Joker said, scooting forward until he sat next to Batman. He didn’t react. Well, when push came to shove, Joker would happily just punch him again. It had worked last time, at least. Might even have a better effect now that he was wearing Batman’s gauntlets.

Sofia raised an eyebrow, studying the man in the Batsuit. “Care to elaborate?”

“Didn’t our own brains in our own bodies do the exact same thing back then?” Joker asked. “ _Think_ it was Batman, or a handsome young clown in my case? You make it sound like your identity is something that can be easily copied and replaced, like a cheap plastic toy. It’s a bit disgusting, really.”

Sofia crossed her arms, opening her mouth to object, but he silenced her with an angry glare. She was still the reason for this mess, good intentions or not.

“But we are unique, each and every one of us,” Joker continued. He paused, carefully thinking about his next words. He rarely did that, but he could tell that Batman was listening to him. Really _listening_ , for once. He wouldn’t waste that opportunity. “I believe that’s what you _really_ did prove with your screwed-up test. Beyond anything else, this experiment is a reinforcement of the concept of identity. The self. If it can persist in another body, if you still remain _you_ even in another person’s brain, doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

“What’s your point?” Cuţov asked, but there was no rejection in her voice. She had taken out her notepad again, taking notes on Joker’s words.

“Look, I don’t want to get religious here, so I won’t really speak about a … well, a person’s _soul_. It’s really not my métier - hey Bats, remember that time I replaced the holy water with sulfuric acid?” he nudged Batman in the side, and received a small grunt as an answer. “Fun times. But what I wanted to say was … we’re more than just the sum of our parts. What you said about him still being Joker, and me being Batman, that’s just _physical_. But we don’t have to define ourselves by our physicality. We’re so much more than that.”

 _Hah, look who’s talking_ , he thought, glancing at his own body sitting beside him. _Like you chose that whole clown shtick because you thought it was fun, right? Not because you saw no other place to escape to from all this maddening randomness._

 _Shut up_ , Joker thought, pushing the mocking inner voice aside.

“I’m no expert, of course,” he continued, shrugging. “But I’m pretty sure I’m Joker right now. And it’s not just this brain thinking that, _I’m_ thinking that. So, does it really matter in which body you are if you can still find and recognize yourself in there?”

He noticed that Batman’s lip had stopped trembling. At some point he had turned towards Joker, and he could almost see the little cogs turning in there on maximum speed. He was doing his usual brooding expression, but it looked so unfamiliar on Joker’s face, that he could literally _see_ Batman shining through. Joker felt a grin forming on his face. Oh, how he had missed him all these lonely months.

“That’s … certainly an interesting point of view,” Sofia commented as she was writing down her last note. She sat down in the old armchair Joker had previously claimed, placing the notepad on her knees. “Now, I said before that I didn’t know if I could reverse this … uh, predicament you’re in. But to be honest, that wasn’t the entire truth. I can certainly reverse the process; however, there may be unwanted side effects.”

“What kind of side effects?” Batman asked, perking up and rejoining the conversation. Joker winked at him, and he thought he could see him tilting his head just the tiniest bit down. Joker took that as a ‘thank you’ for sparing him the embarrassment of a mental breakdown.

“I really can’t say. The thing I’d be worried about is memory loss though. Especially of the time you spent in each other’s bodies.”

“But you’re sure you can turn us back?” Batman inquired.

Sofia looked down at her notes, lost in thought. “I’d need some time. Also, I’d need brain scans from each of you later, MRI scans to be precise. With these I can trace back to where I had to abandon the experiment. And I’d need to ask you some questions now, just to confirm my theories, nothing wild. Aside from that … yeah, I’m as confident as I can be. I mean, my experiment was a success, sort of. Can’t be that hard to reverse it.”

“Alright then,” Batman nodded. „I can send you the MRIs, I’ve got a scanner myself.”

“Uhm, don’t I also sort of have a say in this?” Joker cut in.

“I thought we were on the same page.” Batman turned to face him. _That’s not the point_ , Joker thought, but kept quiet. Of course, he wanted to fix this, to turn back the way they were. Chasing each other over rooftops, the wind in his hair and Batman’s cape rustling behind him. Exchanging punches like violent kisses in a lover’s quarrel. How he had longed for those feelings these past months.

But then … this had happened. Joker couldn’t shake the thought that it was actually an opportunity, for both of them. To change up their old game a little, because frankly put, it was getting a bit boring after all this time. And who knew what life had in store for them on this road? Joker wasn’t sure if he would want to forget all of it.

Batman raised his eyebrows at him, impatiently waiting for an answer. Still, he _was_ waiting for him, and all Joker needed was to take one look at those pleading eyes to make his decision. “Sure I am. Just reminding you that this is a two-player game,” he said. Whatever would come out of their time together, Joker hoped that life wouldn’t screw him over, just this once. It was foolish, but he’d take the risk.

“Then let’s get to work,” Sofia said, unclipping her pen.

* * *

“I know there hasn’t been much time but try to remember anything that comes to mind. First off, I want you to tell me if you had any memories come up that weren’t your own.”

“Well, I remembered a name I didn’t know before,” Joker said. “Things and people being familiar even though I had never really seen them before.”

Bruce nodded in agreement. “Muscle memory, too,” he added.

Cuţov tapped her pen against her lips. “Okay, good. There may be situations where certain memories could come up, but mostly because of specific triggers. If you want to avoid that, you should consider telling each other what those triggers are. Next would be instincts-”

“I’m sorry,” Joker interrupted. “This relationship therapy is great and all, but why exactly do you need to know all this?”

“Memories, instincts … those are all deeper-seated functions of the brain, right?” Bruce proposed.

Sofia smiled approvingly. “Yes, they’re our strongest habits, in a way. Pathways our brain travels most, even if it’s just unconsciously. In my experiment, I had to rewire your brains step by step, starting with the less occupied roads. And since I wasn’t able to finish up, the most basic functions, like memories and instincts, still remain in their original bodies.”

“But I haven’t lost my memories,” Bruce intervened, confused.

“Well, you wouldn’t be able to know that, now would you?” she smiled, almost mischievously so. Bruce didn’t think this to be funny at all. Before he could get angry at her though, she continued, “But don’t worry, you haven’t lost anything that was important to you. Those things are stored in multiple places, it would be foolish not to install a few back-ups after all.” She hesitated, thinking about her next words carefully.

“Memories are what our reason is based upon. They define what we value in life, how we define ourselves. So naturally we unconsciously recall them for every decision we make. Even memories we try to forget, especially traumatic experiences, can still influence us heavily.”

Joker harrumphed but remained quiet otherwise. Bruce, on the other hand, could only agree with her. Dressing up as a superhero probably wasn’t a thing doctors recommended their patients to work through their traumatic experiences, but at least he had found a way for himself to deal with his own memories.

“Our instincts also influence our daily actions,” Cuţov continued, too engaged in her own explanation to notice Joker’s reaction. “Or maybe I should speak of drives, what we do to ease tensions. For example, you eat because you’re hungry, hunger representing a drive that requires a certain action to take place for the drive to go away, which would be food here. Don’t worry though,” she waved her hand dismissively through the air, “I just want to go over the basics. First, survival instinct. How you deal with stress now. That one should be easy to answer for you,” she said, smiling apologetically.

“We both had our fair share of panic attacks at this point, not gonna lie,” Joker shrugged.

“I see,” Cuţov said, taking notes. “How do you normally deal with stress?”

Joker raised an eyebrow, frowning at her. “I’ll give you three shots, sweetie. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

Cuţov paused, almost as if she had to recall first who it was that was casually sitting in her living room. “Right,” she finally said, scribbling something down.

Then she looked up at Bruce, studying him carefully. “Am I right in the presumption that you try to repress any reaction you have to stress? Maybe through meditation, or breathing techniques?”

Bruce blinked in surprise and nodded. She had hit the nail right on its head.

“Aha! See, that’s just the problem,” she grinned triumphantly at them. “Joker, you said you both had panic attacks, right? Now, why is that, when I’m positive that both of you would be able to deal with this sort of situation under normal circumstances?”

“Because our reactions to stress are on the exact opposites of the spectrum,” Bruce realized. Of course. “I repress it, while Joker gives into the emotion, even encourages it.”

“You make it sound as if I’m the victim,” Joker commented, rolling his eyes at him. “I prefer to say I’m, uh … _utilizing_ it to emphasize a point.”

“Regardless of which way you want to put it, these two are clearly contradicting each other,” Sofia said. “You end up in a loop. For example, Batman, you want to control your reaction, but the underlying instincts that remain from Joker tell you to let go. So, when you inevitably let something slip through, the instinct will try to enhance that. You, Batman, on the other hand, are still trying to keep things in check. You end up in a stalemate, but that won’t solve the situation. Your panic level begins to rise, and simultaneously the instinct starts fighting you even more. And you’re stuck in a back and forth that ends in a full-blown panic attack, even if it started small.” Sofia underlined her explanation by retracing a circle on her notepad again and again. “Same for Joker, just the other way around of course.”

“And the only way we can break through that loop is aligning our reactions?” Bruce asked, even though he already knew the answer. Everything in him screamed not to let himself go like that, to laugh like Joker did.

“I’m afraid that’s the only solution that I can think of,” Sofia replied. Bruce sighed. Well, he’d just have to be careful not to get into too stressful situations from now on. _Hmph, good luck with that_ , he thought, exhausted.

“Good, we’re almost done here. The last point is uh … a bit private, but you can just give me the abstract if you’re … uncomfortable. Let’s talk about-”

“Do we really have to-” Bruce tried to interrupt, already knowing what she was about to say, but Cuţov ignored him.

“-reproductive instinct,” she finished.

“Yes, _please_ ,” Joker giggled, batting his eyes at Bruce and scooting closer. Feeling uncomfortable, Bruce quickly stood up from the bed to create some distance between them. He really wasn’t in the mood to talk about his love life, he hardly ever was, and especially not in front of the clown.

“He’s a bit shy when we’re out in public like that,” Joker pretended to whisper to Cuţov. “But you should see him when we’re alone,” he smirked suggestively and winked at Bruce.

“Is that so?” Sofia inquired, already writing something down.

“No!” Bruce hastily answered before she could get the wrong idea.

“Really now, _darling_? You may deny it, but I won’t pretend like I don’t see the effect I have on you,” Joker snapped at him, also standing up now and stepping closer until he was right in Bruce’s personal space. Bruce refused to back down. He wouldn’t let him have that victory.

“You mean _nothing_ to me, Joker,” he growled, pleased by the anger that lit up in Joker’s eyes. “ _If_ you saw anything, it’s because you’re so intoxicated with me that it transferred to your primal brain somehow, _nothing_ more.”

They stared at each other for a few moments, and Bruce undeniably could feel his heart rate increase again. Damn it, he needed to get this under control. Then Joker broke eye contact and chuckled quietly, mumbling, “You keep telling yourself that.”

Sofia had watched the exchange with interest, and Bruce almost would’ve grabbed her damn notepad to see what exactly she was scribbling down now, but he let it be. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know. He also decided to ignore the small smirk she was trying to suppress.

“Are we done here?” he demanded.

Cuţov flipped through the pages, then nodded. “Yes, I believe we are, unless you have more questions …?”

“I’ll be sure to contact you should anything come up,” Bruce said, pulling a phone out of his pocket. It was one he usually only gave to his closest associates, like Gordon. He handed it to Cuţov. “You’ll be able to call me with this, and I expect to receive continuous updates from you. Don’t even try to go MIA. I’ll track you down,” Bruce added, narrowing his eyes at her.

“You have my word,” Sofia responded.

* * *

The drive back was almost eerily silent as they both thought about the surreal discussion they just had. By the time they returned to the Batcave the sun had begun to rise, promising a hot summer day. Bruce couldn’t wait to collapse on his bed and sleep ... preferably a whole week. But first he’d have to secure Joker somewhere in the cave, and handcuffs wouldn’t be enough if he would leave the clown alone for a long time down here.

“If we both want to get any sleep tonight, I have no other option but to put you in the cell for the day,” Bruce said, turning towards Joker who was still in his Batsuit and currently studying the showcases accommodating collectibles from Gotham’s Rogues Gallery.

“Let me think about that for a sec,” he said, not even looking at him. “How about … no.”

“Joker-,” Bruce sighed exhaustedly, too tired to deal with any of his antics now.

“Aha!” Joker exclaimed happily, jumping up and down in front of his own showcase. For a moment, Bruce wondered how he could still be so energetic. Then he remembered that the clown didn’t have to break out of an Asylum and trek all the way to the Manor through the sewers, but had instead gotten a good, long rest in his own bed.

“And here I thought you’d thrown all my loving presents away,” Joker grinned at him. He bowed down, squinting at something behind the glass. “Are those my x-ray specs?” He pretended to gasp in shock. “I’ve been searching for them for years! So poor, innocent Carl didn’t steal them after all … well, I’m sure he’s not mad at me anymore for putting his left hand in a blender. What do you need that one for anyway?” Joker chuckled darkly. “Oh wait … I think he was left-handed.”

Bruce sighed. The clown just had to make everything difficult, didn’t he? “Joker, if you could just-,” he started once again, but Joker swiftly crossed the distance between them and put one gloved finger on Bruce’s lips, silencing him.

“How about we work out another compromise, hm? I’ll be a good clown and stay in my lonely cell, but,” he smirked, his fingertip slowly tracing Bruce’s bottom lip, “you’ll let me take a long, _hot_ shower.”

Bruce glared at him, very much tempted to either back away or, to his dismay, lean forward. The soft touch of the glove on his lips tingled irritatingly however, so he quickly grabbed Joker’s arm and pulled it away.

“Fine,” Bruce said, narrowing his eyes. Better he gave in to the clown now than to wake up with a knife dangling over his chest later, or worse, over Alfred’s. If he just forcibly threw Joker into the cell, he was sure that their already unstable truce would break, which would mean that he’d just have to deal with one more problem.

“But make it quick,” he added, already regretting his choice of words as he saw the lascivious grin spreading on Joker’s face.

“Well, we’ll see about that, won’t we?” Joker replied, winking.

“Don’t you dare,” Bruce growled, but only got a giggle as a response.

Joker was already on his way to the small shower in the back of the cave, taking off parts of the suit as he went, Bruce reluctantly following him. He set the suit in a neat little pile on the floor, only wearing the boxer shorts Bruce had been wearing the day before now. Bruce was just about to tell him that he should at least leave those on, when Joker unceremoniously pulled them off in one swift motion and dropped them on the clothing pile, like the cherry on top of the cake.

The clown grinned at him, and it took all of Bruce’s self-control not to punch his lights out right then and there. That would at least spare him some of the embarrassment that was sure to follow.

He watched, partly in horror, partly in a morbid fascination, as Joker’s gaze inevitably wandered down.

“Hmm,” Joker murmured, scratching his chin. “Looks shockingly normal, I have to say. Well, I wouldn’t call myself a connoisseur but, uh … I’ve always thought it would look more, I don’t know, _bat-like_?”

“Oh my god,” Bruce muttered under his breath, pressing his palm against his forehead. He wasn’t exactly ashamed, he really had nothing to be ashamed of. He simply wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible.

“Just … get in the shower,” Bruce said out loud, turning around, as if that would help the situation.

“Don’t wanna join me?” Bruce didn’t even bother to answer. He heard the shower curtain being drawn and closed again as Joker stepped into the shower, followed by the sound of water hitting the floor tiles.

Hoping that Joker wouldn’t drag this out any longer than it needed to be, he grabbed himself a chair and sat down, pulling out his phone to check the news. He scrolled through the most recent articles but was glad to find none that required Batman’s immediate attention. He sent Alfred a message that he was back in the cave, and that he’d explain everything later, he just needed some rest for now. He smiled as he got a reply several seconds later, asking if he wanted tea to help him sleep better.

 _I’d love to. Thanks Al_ , he wrote back. When things settled down again, he’d try to get Alfred a few days of vacation. He winced as he thought back to the scene Alfred had to witness when Webber had been at the Manor. Yes, a vacation was the least he could do.

As he put his phone away, Bruce’s view fell on a small notebook that had been placed next to the Batcomputer. He had been too busy to notice it before, but now he recognized it as the book he had pulled out of Joker’s pockets; Dick had probably left it there for him. He walked over and picked it up, curiously flipping through the pages once more, but they were still the same innocent white as before. He decided to put it in the scanner, letting it search for any unusual chemical traces.

As he waited for the scanner to finish, Joker started to hum a melody. Bruce recognized it as one of Sinatra’s songs, ‘Send in the Clowns’. _How original_ , he thought, rolling his eyes.

He dropped back into the chair, feeling strangely relaxed, almost contented. He was exhausted, and he could feel his eyelids every now and then dropping down as he listened to the soft droning of the scanner, the water droplets trickling down on the floor, and above all, Joker’s low humming.

“I thought that you'd want what I want, sorry, my dear!” Joker had started to sing now, and Bruce was pleasantly surprised. He wasn’t much of a singer, so he rarely heard his singing voice, but he knew he was no natural talent. Joker still somehow managed to give his untrained voice a nice fullness, skilfully using Bruce’s lower register to dip into the deep tones. Alfred had tried to get him into a choir when he was just a boy, but Bruce had refused. Hearing Joker sing like that now, pouring his heart into the song, Bruce felt a bit of regret. Alfred had told him time and time again that he needed a creative outlet. Well, there was always time to learn new things.

“Isn't it rich? Isn't it queer? Losing my timing this late in my career,” Joker continued, and Bruce’s heart twisted a little when he heard the pain in his voice. He could’ve just imagined it, that it was part of the act, but he thought he had heard some real emotion hidden in there.

“But where are the clowns? There ought to be clowns,” Joker sang, nearing the end of the song. Bruce closed his eyes, a small smile playing on his lips. This was maybe the first time he could enjoy one of Joker’s performances without fearing for someone’s life.

“Well, maybe next-,” Joker suddenly broke off, a low moan escaping from his lips.

The sound directly shot towards Bruce’s groin, a hot sensation building up in his lower stomach as Joker let out an eager gasp. Bruce sucked in his breath, the feeling so unexpected that it overwhelmed him for a few seconds. He heard a small, wet slap from the shower, followed by another sigh full of pleasure. Bruce’s mind was already producing pictures in his head to accompany the sounds: Joker running his hands over his slick skin, down over his stomach, all the way down-

Then he got a grip on himself again, chastising himself for thoughtlessly letting down his guard around the clown. He should’ve known that Joker would use this situation for his own pleasure.

Bruce furiously strode over to the shower and ripped the curtain to the side. Joker let out a startled yelp and water sprayed all over Bruce’s shirt, but he didn’t care. He had come to terms with the fact that he’d have to give Joker some liberties regarding hygiene, anything else would be inhumane. Which of course meant that Joker would inevitably get to know his body more … intimately. But he had been foolish to think that the clown would stop there.

“I think you’re done,” he snapped at him and turned off the water. He grabbed a towel from a small dresser next to the shower as well as some simple black clothing he had stored in there. Bruce threw the towel at Joker, who managed to catch it just in time before it hit the wet floor tiles and dropped the clothes on top of the drawer. “Get dressed.”

Joker grinned at him, lazily rubbing himself dry, the slow movement irritating Bruce even further until he almost would’ve just grabbed the clown and thrown him in the cell, naked as he was. It was always a bit chilly in the cave, and Joker would surely catch a nasty cold. _Would serve him right_ , Bruce thought.

“Relax, honey!” Joker said, finally finished with the towel. “I was just messing with you.” He winked at Bruce, pulling up his boxer shorts. “Sorry to get your … blood pumping.” He glanced down at Bruce’s lower half, a look of disappointment on his face when he didn’t spot anything interesting.

Bruce crossed his arms, glaring at Joker. “Don’t _ever_ do that again.”

“But I didn’t do anything!” Joker replied, holding his hands up. “See? All clean,” he said, wiggling his fingers.

“Hey, I can be honest with you, right Bats?” Joker continued babbling on as he finished dressing. Bruce wordlessly grabbed Joker’s arm and dragged him towards the cell. The clown had gotten his side of the deal, and nothing would stop Bruce from getting his well-deserved sleep now.

“I mean, speaking from man to man, you know how lonely it can get some nights, so what’s a clown to do?” Joker said, wincing as Bruce grabbed his arm tighter.

He opened the cell door and roughly pushed Joker inside, locking the door behind him. He had just turned around to finally make his way out of the cave, when Joker lunged at the bars, pressing his face against the cold metal. “Hey, this is a real problem I’m addressing here!” he called out, trying to sound serious, but unable to suppress a small giggle.

Bruce’s hands tightened into fists. This really wasn’t funny. “Then I guess you’ll just have to manage somehow,” he retorted, patience running thin.

“Oh, I’ll _manage_ ,” Joker replied, his voice dropping low, both seductive and dangerous at the same time.

Something in Bruce snapped, and the next moment he found himself banging on the metal bars with his hands, his face only inches away from Jokers. “So, you’re not just a murderous sociopath, but a murderous, sociopathic _rapist_. Didn’t know you could stoop any lower, but I’ll be sure to add that to your résumé,” Bruce hissed at him.

Joker’s smile stayed on his face, but it looked forced now. “Well, I guess I’ll just have to work on your precious _consent_ then, won’t I?” he replied.

Bruce backed away, shaking his head in disbelief. “This is not a fucking _game_ , Joker.”

The clown narrowed his eyes at him, but remained quiet, the smile finally fading. They studied each other for a moment; Bruce was trying to figure out if he’d have to restrain him further, while Joker was probably pondering over the question whether a good wank was worth losing Batman’s trust.

“Fine,” Joker finally said, flopping down on the mattress in his cell. Bruce secretly let out a sigh of relief. There was a camera installed in the cell, and he’d be damned if he didn’t check the footage this evening, but at least he could pretend to have one less thing to worry about.

Bruce had almost reached the elevator when Joker called after him again. “Just so that we’re clear, you can do to my body whatever you want handsome.”

Joker’s laughter echoed through the whole cave, and Bruce thought he could still hear it ringing in his ears when the elevator doors shut tight behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((Oh no what's that in the tags I didn't put that there-))
> 
> Don't really have anything to add here except that I hope that I lived up to your expectations!
> 
> Stay fresh and schwifty everyone! Cheers!


	8. But in this twilight, our choices seal our fate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thank you to [Wizard_of_Ozzie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wizard_of_Ozzie/pseuds/Wizard_of_Ozzie) once again for beta-reading this chapter!
> 
> Please, do enjoy. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
> 
> [chapter title: [Broken Crown](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sXzDu071RdQ) by Mumford & Sons]

Bruce let himself fall on his bed, legs and arms sprawled over the sheets. He felt so exhausted after everything that had happened, yet when he closed his eyes, he just couldn’t find the peace of mind to go to sleep. Snippets of their conversation with Sofia ran through his head over and over again. He tried to take a deep breath, to let his thoughts pass by, but it didn’t work, and he soon found himself growing only more frustrated.

With an annoyed grunt, Bruce snapped his eyes open and stared at the ceiling. This wouldn’t work. Maybe Alfred’s tea would help him, he shouldn’t let it go to waste anyway.

He scooted over to the edge of the bed and grabbed the steaming cup Alfred had left there for him. It smelled wonderful, like lavender and chamomile, and Bruce took a careful sip. He grimaced as all he tasted was hot, flavorless water. Dammit, this was getting really bothersome.

He glanced at the bowl filled with sugar cubes and the small milk jug Alfred persistently placed next to his tea. Bruce always drank his tea black, but Alfred insisted to put them there to uphold the British etiquette. Bruce took two cubes and put them in his tea, slowly stirring it as he waited for them to dissolve. The thought that he had forgotten Joker’s notebook in the cave crossed his mind, the scanner had surely finished by now. Whatever, he’d just look at it later. He wasn’t in the mood to go back down there.

The tea still didn’t taste like much, but Bruce couldn’t bring himself to add more sugar, so he quickly downed it, ignoring the burning feeling as the hot liquid ran down his throat. He remained on the bed for several minutes, waiting for the tea’s effect to kick in. To his dismay it seemed to have the opposite effect; his heart rate only accelerated.

 _To hell with this body_ , Bruce thought, getting up to restlessly pace around the room. If things continued like this, he’d be absolutely exhausted this evening, and with Joker in his home, he really couldn’t allow himself any avoidable mistakes.

Maybe he could take a shower.

Yes, he should do that anyway, who knew what he had dragged with him from the sewers. _You can do to my body whatever you want_ , Joker had told him. “Only in your dreams,” Bruce muttered under his breath. But at least he wouldn’t feel like he was forcefully violating Joker’s privacy anymore. Yes, it was Joker he was talking about, but even he was still human, somewhere deep, deep down, with ... certain rights.

He’d just get this over with quickly.

Bruce stepped into the bathroom, taking off his shoes on the way and carelessly flinging them in one corner. The shirt and tank top followed, exposing his white skin to the cool air in the room, letting goosebumps appear on his arms.

He was just about to pull down the pants when his view caught on the mirror across the room. Joker stared back at him, looking so different than what Bruce was used to. He looked exhausted. Drained of all color. He rarely saw the clown without his make-up, except for when he visited him in the Asylum. But even then the garish orange overall made him look alive, not the ghost Bruce was currently seeing in the mirror.

 _Yeah, still me in there._ The thought made Bruce’s mouth corners tug upwards. His smile looked so normal; just a plain, genuine smile on the Clown Prince of Crime’s face, something not many people had ever seen.

Bruce tore his eyes away from the mirror and continued undressing. He hesitated for a brief moment, his hands lingering on the hem of his shorts. Taking a deep breath, he awkwardly pushed them down, keeping his eyes trained on the faucet of the bathtub. No need to make this any weirder than it already was.

Bruce stepped into the shower and turned it on. A slight shiver ran down his spine as the cold water hit his frame, followed by the relaxation that settled in as soon as the water had heated up. Bruce breathed a small sigh of relief as his tense muscles loosened up, and he reached up to massage his neck.

Joker’s skin was riddled with all kinds of scars. Bruce felt a particularly nasty one at the base of his skull, and he traced it all the way down to his collarbone. Someone had apparently tried to slit Joker’s throat, but the clown had been able to turn his head the other way at the last moment. There must’ve been a lot of blood. He knew that Joker had a lot of scuffles with other people, but Bruce felt weirdly left out of the loop. It was a possessive, unhealthy thought, and he quickly pushed it aside.

Still, curiosity got the better of him, and he let his fingers wander down a bit lower to his stomach. This scar he did recognize all too well. Joker had been able to capture him at that time and had bound him to a chair. Bruce didn’t remember his exact words, but the clown had talked about their connection, how they were destined for each other, needed each other. Two sides of the same coin, he had said. He had gotten closer and closer, until their noses had touched. Bruce had been able to free himself then and had used the clown’s proximity to carve a deep gash across his navel with the spikes on the gauntlets of the Batsuit.

Bruce’s hand unconsciously traced the protruding scar back and forth, the warm water gently trickling on his head causing his mind to wander. Joker would’ve surely kissed him if he hadn’t reacted. Not that he wanted him to, but Bruce couldn’t deny that he hadn’t thought about it on occasion. Mere fleeting pictures, no more than impressions that sometimes bubbled forth. How could they not, the way Joker talked about their relationship? The clown certainly had a way with words, creating colorful images from thin air. It was an ability Bruce would’ve thought alluring if those images weren’t always so violent in nature.

 _Shit._ Bruce abruptly stopped his motions when he noticed that his hand had traveled lower than he could explain away with tracing scars. He was about to pull away, to not let this escalate into something he’d later regret. But he didn’t.

Joker would never know about this. Nobody would know. If Cuţov’s warning turned out to be right, even Bruce would not remember. This, he realized, would be the only chance he could safely indulge in this sort of fantasy without consequences.

 _You can do to my body whatever you want._ It was rather amusing that Joker should get his wish granted after all, without any of them ever knowing about it.

 _This is a terrible idea_ , Bruce thought as his fingers crossed the remaining distance, taking Joker’s length into the palm of his hand.

He felt like a boy again, exploring his own body, not knowing what he liked, what he _wanted_. Bruce gave himself a slow, experimental tug, his eyes fluttering closed as a familiar hotness started pooling in his lower abdomen. He repeated the motion a second, third, fourth time, gradually increasing the pace until his member was pulsating in his hand, his heartbeat matching the rhythm.

Bruce kept his eyes closed, but he could feel that Joker was about average. And thin, like his long fingers, with which he now explored this body. He rubbed his thumb over his tip, but it didn’t have the desired effect it usually had. He pressed down harder and moaned softly as his body reacted to the pressure.

Weird, why did this body then react so strongly to gentler touches earlier? The theory that it was just Batman’s touch, or rather _Bruce’s_ at that moment specifically, jumped into his mind, but before he could process the thought further his mind was suddenly flooded with a wave of pleasure when his hand found a particularly sensitive spot just at the base of his length.

He couldn’t help but remember the sounds the clown had made earlier, and the images that had appeared in Bruce’s head. He didn’t want to think about him, yet here he was, unable to pretend like the mental picture of Joker stroking himself didn’t make him mimic the motion. God, he was such a hypocrite.

But maybe he’d finally get the clown out of his system after he was done. The fantasy would lose its thrill.

Bruce had found a rhythm now, tension building up in his stomach that was begging to be released. But this simply wasn’t _enough._ He tried a few motions with his hand that usually worked on his own body, but all he got out of him was a frustrated, needy groan. He pulled even harder, almost furiously now, panting as he sucked in the steamy, hot air.

His legs started to tremble slightly, and he reached out with his free hand to grab hold of something. In his search, he accidentally got in contact with the pipe for hot water, and the heated metal burned his skin. Bruce quickly pulled back, letting out a pained hiss that turned into a loud moan when the sensation shot straight down, Joker’s length twitching in his hand.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Bruce exhaled. He leaned his head against the wet shower wall, his movements slowing down as he contemplated whether he should really go all the way. The throbbing pressure in his cock answered the question for him.

Unsure how to go about this, Bruce’s fingers found his nipple, circling it first. He never really touched himself there, the area was sensitive and the pain rather unpleasant. Now he gingerly took it between his thumb and index finger, twisting it slightly. A high giggle escaped him as his hips bucked forward into his hand, searching for more friction.

He was close, Bruce could tell. He just needed … that last motivation to finally push him over the edge. His hand was now moving on his own, reaching into his hair. And then it was pulling, violently ripping on the long curls. Tears built up in Bruce’s eyes from the pain, blurring his vision, but he didn’t even see or feel them.

All his attention was currently focused on the intense, pulsating heat rushing through his body, his entire being wound-up and tight. He was finally on the highest point of the rollercoaster, and all he needed to do was let go.

And as he did, an almost animalistic groan escaping from his lips, there was suddenly an image forcibly pushed to the front of his thoughts.

It was the looming shadow of a bat, towering over him, its hands around his neck, pressing down.

The vision faded as quickly as it had appeared, leaving Bruce breathless as waves of pleasure washed over him. His knees finally buckled, and he slumped to the floor, his feet slipping on the slick tiles.

Bruce blinked slowly, his previous exhaustion coupled with the intense release he had just experienced finally getting to him. He looked down at his hands and watched dumbfoundedly as the water washed away any traces of his endeavor.

 _This was a terrible idea_ , Bruce thought, reaching up and turning the water temperature all the way down.

* * *

When Bruce returned to the cave later that day, he found Joker pacing up and down in his cell.

“Turn that damn thing off!” Joker snarled as soon as he spotted him, pointing in the direction of the computer. Bruce set down the large bag he had brought from upstairs and looked for the source of Joker’s problem, when he heard a small, but shrill beeping sound coming from the scanner he had activated that morning.

“Sorry,” Bruce mumbled as he tapped a few commands into the console, shutting it down. He had not even thought about the noise the scanner would make if he left it running the whole time; it had surely kept Joker awake for the most part. Well, he hadn’t gotten much sleep either, but for a whole other reason he’d rather not dwell too long on.

“You better be, drove me crazy as a coot. What was that anyway?”

Bruce removed the notebook from a small compartment and curiously took a look at the results of the scan. He had instructed it to search for _anything_ really, but aside from a few traces of pollen, dust and dead skin cells there was absolutely nothing unusual about this notebook. Weird. Why would Joker just carry an empty book around?

He turned around to the clown, who was impatiently drumming his fingernails on the metal bars. “There’s nothing inside,” he said while questioningly holding up the notebook.

Joker’s fingers abruptly stopped their incessant motion as he shot the book an offended glare. Then the corners of his mouth curled upwards as he looked back at Bruce. “Well, gee, the title _World’s Greatest Detective_ is surely most fitting for one making such a daring statement based on astounding deductive reasoning.”

Bruce rolled his eyes at him. “What’s the story here?” he asked, deciding to ignore Joker’s remark.

The clown eyed him for a while, his brows knitted together in thought, probably deciding how much he should reveal. In the end, he only shrugged his shoulders, taking on a nonchalant tone, “Just something I thought would come in handy.” Judging from his strong reaction, Bruce could tell that he certainly wasn’t revealing the whole truth. But if he had learned anything from all those years fighting the clown, then it was the fact that he could be just as stubborn as Bruce himself. So, he let it slide for the moment, keeping the information stored in the back of his mind.

“You know what?” Joker added, a new idea lighting up his eyes, “I think it just might now. Care to give it back? Oh, and I’d also need a pen, unless you want me to write with my own blood.” He giggled quietly. Bruce wasn’t sure if he was serious or not, but after a short contemplation of the request he grabbed a wooden pencil - giving him a metal pen would be like handing him the keys to the cell - from his desk and handed the two items through the bars to him.

“Are you … going to keep a diary?” Bruce asked. He probably should also keep his own if they were indeed to lose their memories, preferably omitting … certain details.

Joker grinned at him, placing the writing utensils on his mattress, “My, you’re certainly trying to live up to your name today, aren’t you? Correct again, congratulations love. And don’t worry, I’ll be sure to draw a heart around your name every time.”

Bruce held back a sigh and unlocked Joker’s cell door.

“What, you forgot to bring your handcuffs?” Joker asked as he stepped out the small containment, shooting him a suspicious look.

Bruce shook his head in response. He had something planned for the evening and restraining the clown would not bring the wanted results. “You’ll need your hands free for what I’m planning you to do,” Bruce said, wincing at his choice of words. Not what he had wanted to say.

Joker broke out into a loud laugh. “Oh, please, do tell me more, dearest. Where exactly do you want my hands then?” he said, voice dropping low and stepping dangerously close. Bruce cleared his throat and hurriedly walked back towards the Batcomputer, where he had dropped the bag he had brought with him. There was a quiet rattle audible as he wordlessly handed it over to Joker.

Joker raised an eyebrow and peeked inside. After a stunned pause he reached inside the bag and pulled out a brush as well as a paint tube. “You … what? Want me to redecorate the cave? Finally got tired of the depressing color scheme, have you now.”

“Hm. Not quite,” Bruce answered, walking over to where he stored his gadgets. He took out a set of batarangs, a copy of his batclaw and a few smoke pellets, and placed the items on a table. He was sure that the current peace in Gotham wasn’t going to last much longer, and he had needed to devise a plan to ensure that he could keep the city safe, even as Joker. He’d be vulnerable without his gadgets, but at the same time he didn’t want people to think Batman just started handing out his stuff to wanted criminals.

So, maybe Joker had stolen them. But to make that story believable, his gadgets needed a bit of modification.

“I want you to paint these.” Joker just blinked at him slowly, as if he were the delusional one. “I can’t have … well, _me_ running around with Batman’s gadgets, at least not in that state,” Bruce explained further. “I believe you place great value on your originality, you wouldn’t just steal someone’s equipment.”

“No, I wouldn’t,” Joker said, sounding surprisingly serious. Bruce didn’t pay it any mind; Joker’s creativity, albeit a rather twisted one, was something the clown often boasted about, so someone accusing him of stealing ideas was a sizable blow to his ego.

“But let’s just assume that you got hold of one of my belts. You wouldn’t want it to go to waste either, I’m sure,” Bruce continued.

Joker let out an incredulous laugh. “You want me to joker-fy your stuff?” Bruce nodded. “My, I feel honored. Careful though, you might just think again about me redesigning your whole equipment!” Joker winked, twirling the brush between his fingers.

* * *

They spent the rest of the day together in the cave. At first Joker had protested when Bruce had told him that he wouldn’t get to train with the newly colored gadgets, but when he had begrudgingly started with his task, he had slowly but steadily forgotten about his complaints.

Now, Joker was enthusiastically painting Bruce’s tools, splattering color all over the floor, while Bruce had decided to use the time to test out the fighting abilities of his new body. He had set up a variating training plan to see what he’d need to change, and what could stay. His main concern was his stamina, but also if his muscle memory had been damaged. Sofia had reassured him that he hadn’t lost any important memories, but he wasn’t so sure if that included muscle memory.

First, Bruce practiced his usual punches and kicks against a training dummy. He was relieved when he couldn’t identify any obvious changes, aside from the observation that he was actually a bit faster now, probably because the suit wasn’t weighing him down.

Next, he tried to lift a few weights. He gradually worked his way up to the heavier ones and was surprised when he easily lifted one that had made his own body break out in sweat. It wasn’t long before he could feel his arms starting to tremble though, and he hastily put the thing back on the rack before it could crush him beneath its weight.

It was the gate-situation all over again. Bruce had a theory that it was like the rare cases of some people suddenly exhibiting super-human strength in extremely stressful situations, only that Joker’s body had somehow managed to call forth that strength on command. That certainly would put a lot of strain on a person’s body but combined with Joker’s fast recovery rate the clown could easily avoid that.

Bruce would have to plan ahead in his fights. He’d have to fight with his normal strength and use the energy outburst as an ace up his sleeve to overpower his opponent. Bruce remembered times when Joker had suddenly been able to easily throw him across the room, or to suddenly find the strength to escape his grip – he was sure that Joker had used that trick back then.

The last point on the schedule were his gadgets. Bruce stepped over to where Joker sat at the table and picked up one of the already painted and dried batarangs. He turned it around, studying the new look. Joker had certainly lived out his creativity with each of these; they all looked different, almost as if the clown was trying to prove a point. The one he had chosen depicted two small figures holding hands, one of them depicted with small, pointy ears, the other one with a tiny, red smile on its face.

 _Charming_ , Bruce thought as walked back to the training dummies across the room and took aim at one of the them. The batarang felt foreign in his hand, and he couldn’t quite find his usual hand position due to his fingers being longer and thinner than his own. He threw it anyway, just to test how much he’d have to adjust his angle.

He managed to get out a quick, “Watch out!” before the sharp blade burrowed itself into the wooden table, just a few inches away from Joker’s hand.

Bruce spent most of the remaining day throwing batarangs, carefully facing away from Joker this time.

When it was time for them to return to bed, Bruce told Joker that they still had to do the brain scans for Sofia. It was a bit of a challenge for Joker to keep still long enough for Bruce to get a good result, but after several tries the clown had finally been able to pull himself together. Or he had just lost interest in stealing Bruce’s sleep and patience.

Bruce repeated the process on himself after locking Joker up again, and sent the images to Sofia, hoping that the quality was sufficient for her purposes. As he was checking last day’s camera feed from Joker’s cell, his phone made a small beeping sound. Sofia had sent him a laughing smiley and a thumbs-up. Bruce rolled his eyes at her laid-back manner, but he hoped that it was just her way of saying that everything was going according to plan.

Bruce finished circling through the camera feed, relieved that Joker had indeed kept his word. Aside from the clown walking up and down in his cell for about an hour after Bruce had left the cave, certainly agitated by the scanner’s sounds, he found nothing unusual, and decided to call it a day.

* * *

During the next day, while Bruce was taking a break from training and Joker had set the brush aside to shake his aching hand – he had been drawing non-stop for the whole day, too engaged in his work to notice the passing time – Bruce decided to ask him a question that had been burning on the tip of his tongue for a long time now.

“I’ve been meaning to ask, but what do you think of me being Bruce Wayne?” He had wanted to be indifferent about the question, but he couldn’t quite hide the curious undertone in his voice. Aside from his remarks when they were trying to convince Webber, he hadn’t commented on it even once.

There was a long silence in which Joker merely stared into space, and Bruce had almost given up on receiving an answer when the clown finally spoke up, “I think he’s a rich _prick_ that sucks up to anyone asking for it.”

Bruce blinked in surprise, before letting out a small laugh. “Didn’t know the newspapers were painting that bad of a picture.”

“I can read between the lines,” Joker retorted harshly. Then he went back to painting the batarang he was currently working on, clearly wanting to end the conversation there.

Bruce narrowed his eyes at him, crossing his arms. “Can you now,” he said quietly to himself. In fact, he was pretty sure that Joker didn’t know much about Bruce Wayne at all. Yes, maybe what the news said about him, but their opinions were often biased. They twisted his actions the way they wanted to portray him. And even if Joker could read between the lines, Bruce was fairly confident that he wasn’t just a “rich prick”. At least that’s what he liked to think.

“You said yourself that the mask is only a tool for me, that it’s not _me_ ,” Bruce said, taking a seat across from Joker. The clown paused and glanced up at him, before continuing to draw a smile on the batarang with bright red paint. “I meant that you’re _Batman_ , even outside the costume,” he said, his jaw tightening slightly as he clenched his teeth together.

True, but that wasn’t always the case. There were times when he needed to be Batman even when he wasn’t wearing a cowl. But there were also times where he could just be Bruce Wayne. “Maybe I don’t want to be Batman all the time,” Bruce said, thinking of the rare peaceful moments he had experienced in between chasing various villains through the city.

“Why not? I’m always Joker.” The statement sounded so final, it made Bruce almost pity the clown. Yes, he had done terrible things, but Bruce believed that nobody was born evil. If only the clown would accept treatment and not actively work against it all the time. But that was a discussion for another day.

“Apart from the obvious fact of it being absolutely draining after a while?” Bruce said instead and shrugged. “To be honest, I think I’d miss being … well just being a regular citizen when I get the chance. It sounds boring, but it does have its moments. You should try it sometime.”

Joker raised an eyebrow but remained quiet otherwise.

“I think it just bothers you that you don’t know me outside of the mask,” Bruce remarked, convinced he had hit a sore spot when Joker glared at him and forcefully shoved the brush in a glass full of already murky water.

“I know all the _fun_ parts,” Joker snapped.

“Well, how would you know that Bruce Wayne doesn’t have ‘fun parts’ too, when you don’t even know him?” Bruce allowed himself a mischievous smirk.

Joker stared at him for a few seconds, before rolling his eyes. “Touché.”

“So, you admit that you don’t know him,” Bruce continued, the smirk evolving into a sly grin. _Got you._

“Maybe,” Joker said, mimicking his expression. “Still think I’d just be disappointed though.”

Now it was Bruce’s turn to roll his eyes. “I think you’d be surprised,” he said, putting his elbows on the table and leaning slightly forward.

Joker mirrored his movement, unconcerned by the paint smearing all over his clothes, and teasingly cocked an eyebrow. “My, are you flirting with me, Mr. Wayne?”

Bruce furrowed his brows in confusion. Was he? Before he could form a response though, the Batcomputer once again interrupted them with a shrill beep. Bruce knew that sound, and he wasn’t very keen on checking the new message that had just arrived. Still, he got up, and read the newest report from the GCPD, dread filling his mind as he read the culprit’s name.

Bane had just been spotted breaking into Ace Chemicals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, first time for me writing something juicy, hope you liked it! (I'd love to get some feedback on that one to be honest-)
> 
> Sadly, I also got some bad news for y'all :/ My exams are coming up, and I haven't been able to write as much as I wanted to, and it'll probably only get worse the next two months. Meaning I won't be able to update this weekly anymore for a while, but I'll try to get a chapter out every two or three weeks! I'll 100% finish this though, don't worry! <3
> 
> In the meantime, you can always come and talk to me / rant about anything / get a hug at my [blog on Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/thescarypaper), I'll still try to post some art here and there! (and dank memes)
> 
> Lots of love, and, as always: Cheers!
> 
> Art for this chapter: this beautiful [piece of art](https://asgardiantimelady.tumblr.com/post/620923727663726593/from-chapter-8-of-thescarypaper-s-bodyswap-story), another one done by the amazing asgardiantimelady! <3


	9. I brought a lemon to a knife fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, has it been three weeks already? Man, time flies. Anyways, here's (finally) the next chapter!
> 
> As always, thanks to [Wizard_of_Ozzie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wizard_of_Ozzie/pseuds/Wizard_of_Ozzie) for beta-reading! 
> 
> And please give some love to this [lovely piece](https://asgardiantimelady.tumblr.com/post/620290303635668993/sooo-this-is-actually-the-first-time-im) (chapter 6) as well as [this work](https://asgardiantimelady.tumblr.com/post/620923727663726593/from-chapter-8-of-thescarypaper-s-bodyswap-story) (chapter 8) done by my dear friend asgardiantimelady on Tumblr!
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> [chapter title: [Lemon To A Knife Fight](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HwPa71UZRaQ) by The Wombats]

“You want to fight Bane _by yourself?_ Really, and how are you gonna do that in your condition? Pretty sure you won’t even hit him with one of your sharp boomerangs from what I’ve seen, and that giant hulk is not exactly a small target.”

Bruce finished putting on the bulletproof vest and grabbed the purple suit Webber had brought him. “I’ve defeated him on my own before. Also, I have a lot more in store than just batarangs, you should know that.” He slipped a hand into one arm of the garment. “And I think I made a lot of progress since yesterday.” Bruce tugged at his sleeves, adjusting the suit. It didn’t sit perfectly due to the tactical vest underneath, but he’d rather have the additional protection than a gunshot wound, however stylish he’d look while getting shot.

Joker skeptically raised an eyebrow. “I counted. Your average hit rate was about fifty percent. _Hit_ rate, not even counting in accuracy. And you call that progress?”

Bruce pulled Joker’s gloves over his hands and flexed his fingers, the tight fit accentuating the slender digits. “Guess I’ll just have to throw a few more at him then,” he shrugged.

"Bats, that’s insane!” Joker burst out. “Can’t you at least … I don’t know, call that irritating Nightstalker or whatever his name was?”

Bruce looked up at him in surprise. Ignoring the crude remark on Nightwing’s name, he had never expected for Joker to ask for help, least of all for Dick’s. “Nightwing’s busy in Blüdhaven. I … understand that you’re worried about your body getting damaged, but-”

“Have you _looked_ at my body hon’?” Joker interrupted him, crossing his arms. “Well, you probably didn’t, you prude.” He rolled his eyes. “But let me tell you, that’s really not the issue here.” When Bruce only answered with a questioning look, Joker threw his hands up in the air in annoyance. “You can be so _dense_ , dearest, I sometimes wonder how you even function on a daily basis. Do I really have to spell it out for you?” He let out a theatrical sigh. “I just don’t want to scrape your brain off the wall Bane bashed your pretty head against.”

“That won’t happen,” Bruce answered, furrowing his brows when Joker glared at him.

The clown put one finger on his chest, pressing down firmly. “You. Don’t. Know. That,” Joker said, tapping harder on his pectoral with each word. “You’ve never tested out your current abilities against someone else.” Tap. “You’ve barely escaped with your life against Bane before.” Tap. “And you can’t even use your _oh so fancy_ toys correctly.” Before Joker’s finger could reach its goal, Bruce grabbed the clown’s hand and held it in place.

“ _Fine._ You can be my back-up. Just don’t interfere unless it’s absolutely necessary. I don’t want anyone to think that Batman is working with Joker.”

Joker threw his head back, letting out a short laugh. “That should be your last concern I think,” he said, shaking his head. “Honestly, I’ve never met anyone as stubborn as you, Bats. Or maybe you’re just plain suicidal? Do you want to talk about it?” Before Bruce could respond, Joker waved his free hand at him in dismissal. “Ah, whatever. I solemnly promise to keep to the shadows like a good little bat, cross my heart and hope to die. Well, it’s _Bane_ , so that might actually just happen-”

“Hurry up with the suit then,” Bruce interrupted, letting go of Joker’s hand and opening one of the showcases. He pulled out one of the newer suits this time; if he would rely on Joker’s help at the end of the day, he could as well give him more to work with.

It didn’t take long for Joker to put on the suit, and when he had finished stuffing the remaining unpainted gadgets in his belt, Bruce gave him a short nod and took off towards the elevator.

He was already half-way to the cave’s exit when he noticed that Joker wasn’t following. He suppressed a sigh and turned back around. “If you’re going to make this harder than it already is, I can lock you back up again anytime, just say the word,” Bruce said, impatiently tapping his foot on the floor. Bane was probably already stuffing his pockets with whatever chemicals he needed for his venom formula.

“Oh, no, don’t get me wrong. I’m itching for some action almost as much as you do,” Joker said in his deep Batman-voice, picking up a small, shimmering object that had been at the bottom of Webber’s care package and that Bruce had consciously decided to ignore until now. “But aren’t you forgetting something?” Joker pulled off the cap with an audible popping sound, an impish smile spreading across his face.

“Is this really necessary-”

“Oh, but of course!” Joker interrupted him, “Can’t have you perform for a real audience for the first time without the most important requisite after all!”

Bruce hesitated. “It won’t take long, promise! P- _lease_ , Bats?” Joker cooed, batting his eyes at him. Well, he had already invested so much time and effort into keeping up the façade, Bruce figured that he could as well go all the way. And Joker was right; the harlequin would never leave the house without his haunting signature smile.

Bruce went back the way he came and reached for the lipstick tube Joker was holding, but only grasped at thin air as the clown swiftly withdrew his hand. “What do you think you’re doing?” Bruce growled in annoyance.

“What do _you_ think you’re doing?” Joker shot back at him, shaking his head and tutting. “You’ll just make a big mess out of yourself, believe me. Better to leave it to the professionals, sweetie.” He pulled off the gauntlets and let them drop to the floor, all the while weaving the lipstick through his fingers. Bruce attentively followed the blood-red trace like a cat chasing a laser pointer.

“Don’t have a spare lip liner lying around by coincidence, do you?” Joker asked absent-mindedly. “Or some lip scrub, those lips have definitely seen better days. Guess I’ll just have to improvise …,” Joker trailed off as he stepped into Bruce’s personal space. He lifted his hand to catch Bruce’s chin between his thumb and index finger, firmly holding it in place.

“I think we should do this more often.” Joker turned Bruce’s head to each side, studying his face with keen eyes. “Mirrors can never accurately represent the image people actually have of you … I have to say, I’m not quite sure if my work won’t turn out a bit different than usual, this is a new experience for me as well,” Joker explained, still only teasingly playing with the lipstick.

Bruce inwardly rolled his eyes. As if anyone would see the difference. “Could we get this over with now?” he asked, painfully aware of the time they were losing.

“Hm …? Oh, yeah, sorry,” Joker chuckled. “Let’s give you a pretty smile.” He patted his cheek lightly, ignoring Bruce’s glare. “Shame we only have time for the basics though. Don’t mean to be rude, but you remind me of a raccoon with those dark circles around your eyes-”

Joker started outlining his upper lip, his pinky finger resting just beneath Bruce’s mouth for stability. It couldn’t be avoided that his fingers every so often touched his sensitive lips, but Bruce was sure that Joker was exaggerating.

“Open your mouth a bit for me darling, would you,” Joker said in a hushed voice, the voice changer barely picking up the sound. Bruce did as told, almost holding his breath so that Joker would have less trouble putting on the color. He didn’t even know why he cared about that – he could’ve just as well done this himself, it couldn’t be that hard, and Bane surely wouldn’t care if there were a few smears.

Maybe he just wanted to repay the clown for actually being quite helpful these last days, with the exception of few escapades. Or maybe he thought that it was amusing to see Joker putting his creativity and artistic talent to good use for once, like he did with the painting of his gadgets. Bruce had to admit that they had turned out quite impressive, despite the occasionally worrisome imagery they depicted. Or – and Bruce wasn’t quite sure what to make of that option – he was simply enjoying the peaceful interaction with the otherwise uncontrollable man.

Bruce had noticed, over the short time they had spent together, that Joker had gotten calmer than what he was used to. He wondered if it was just the situation they had found themselves in; that Bruce’s body was somehow soothing Joker’s erratic behavior, like an antidote.

His musings were interrupted as Joker lightly patted on his lips, taking away any excess paint. When his fingers left his mouth, the tips were stained red. The clown wiped them clean on the breastplate of the Batsuit, leaving streaks of bloody red on the bat symbol depicted on the front of the armor.

“All done!” Joker exclaimed, grinning at him proudly. The lipstick felt weirdly heavy on his lips, and Bruce rubbed his lips together to get rid of the sensation.

“Oh my- _Stop that_!” Joker suddenly snapped at him, staring at him with a devastated look in his eyes.

“What?” Bruce asked, confused by the sudden outburst.

“You’re smearing it all around when you do that! And I put so much effort into keeping the edges sharp, even without a damn liner. And now look at what you did!”

“I-,” Bruce started, an insult already on the tip of his tongue, but he decided against it. “Sorry,” he mumbled instead, picking up the gloves Joker had dropped previously.

Joker stared at him, eyes glistening as he glared at him angrily. Then his expression shifted into something friendlier, and he accepted the gloves with a genuine smile. “Ah, well, you wouldn’t have known. Honest beginner mistake, I couldn’t possibly stay mad for at you for such a silly thing.”

“Right …,” Bruce said, puzzled at how easily Joker’s anger had dissipated with a simple apology. Normally the clown would use every opportunity to start a fight with him, be it with fists or with words.

“Now that we’ve gotten you all ready for your first date, we should get going, wouldn’t you agree dear?” Joker suggested as he slipped the gauntlets back on, already on his way to the elevator. Bruce followed closely behind, still pondering over Joker’s behavior.

* * *

They parked the car behind a small group of trees, out of view from the group of policemen and -women that were quietly holding their position outside the factory, waiting for further instructions. Bruce had been able to hold them back by telling Gordon that he didn’t want any unnecessary casualties. In truth, he’d love to have the GCPD at his back for support, but he couldn’t risk getting shot when they spotted him, even when he was fighting Bane. But he also wouldn’t let the police handle Bane by themselves; that scenario would escalate into something horribly messy he wanted to avoid at all cost.

He’d taken Bane down on his own before, it couldn’t be much harder in Joker’s body, right?

“Ah, home sweet home,” Joker sighed beside him, craning his neck to look up to the bright green letters spelling out the chemical plant’s name. The neon light reflected off of Joker’s eyes, giving them the illusion of an acidic green color.

Bruce watched him, fascinated by Joker’s expression that was so full of emotion as he stared up to the sinister building, so unlike Bruce’s usually stoic face. He could make out anger by the way his brows furrowed, but he also spotted some form of awe in the glistening of his eyes. A smile was twisting his lips upwards, and yet he could see that it lacked its usual chaotic malice.

As much as he as Batman tried to keep his emotions hidden, he believed that Joker had mastered that particular skill much better than Bruce himself. Joker was throwing on a show for everybody, presenting himself in the way he wanted people to see him, but the show had at one point become reality for him.

Bruce followed Joker’s view, watching as the black smoke of the factory’s chimneys merged with Gotham’s murky night sky, the combined light of streetlamps and spotlights blocking out the stars. Bruce knew exactly when Joker had fused with his act, when he had been consumed by the role. When he had buried his old, bothersome memories, somewhere deep down.

Bruce wasn’t quite sure if he had ever truly seen behind the clown’s façade as much as he was at that moment. Maybe because Bruce knew his own face better than anyone else. But maybe, just maybe, it was the clown himself who had changed these past months.

 _You haven’t been quite yourself lately_ , Webber had said. Bruce was collecting more and more puzzle pieces, but he was still missing the crucial part that would reveal the final picture to him. Well, he still had some time to figure it out.

“Come on, we shouldn’t keep Bane waiting,” Bruce said, carefully placing a hand on Joker’s shoulder. The clown blinked slowly as if he had been far away with his thoughts.

“Sure,” Joker agreed, tearing his eyes away from the chemical plant.

Bruce gave him a final once-over, before nodding at Joker to follow him. They made their way to the back of the building, in search of an entrance. Bruce had been here more often than he wanted to, so he already had the rough layout stored in his mind, and a quick glance over the plant’s layout had revealed an entry out of sight for the GCPD. The only inconvenience being that the door was on the third floor, with no way to reach it from outside. If one only had conventional methods at their repertoire, that is.

“Do you know how to use this?” Bruce asked while pulling out his batclaw. He had to look twice at the tool, confused by the pink and green color sticking to it. Joker had definitely done a thorough job on his gadgets.

Joker shrugged. “You just press some buttons, right? You should know that I’m an expert for that- Where _is_ that damn thing?” Joker said, searching for the device on his belt. Bruce rolled his eyes and grabbed the batclaw dangling on his hip. Before Joker could snatch the gadget out of his hands, Bruce pulled back. “I’ll only explain this to you once, so you better listen closely,” Bruce said, following with a short description of the claw’s basic functions, just enough so that Joker would be able to use it.

“So, if I flip this switch to the right,” Joker said, pointing at the release, “it’ll reel the rope in, right?”

Bruce let out a frustrated groan. Of course, Joker had paid zero attention to his explanation. He’d probably break all his bones trying to get up there, and that’s something that neither of them needed right now. So, Bruce made short process of the situation and grabbed the clown around the waist, ignoring the excited inhale of the clown.

“My, I knew you were in need of a hug, just not that desperately,” Joker chuckled, draping his arms around Bruce’s neck, “C’mere then, you moody clown.” He pressed himself closer, and Bruce could feel the sharp edges of the armor through his purple suit. Before he could try anything further, Bruce fired the batclaw at the overhanging edge just above their entry, and reeled them both in. Joker let out a surprised yelp and held tightly onto him, but as expected, he could easily lift both of them until they reached their destination.

Still, Bruce was slightly out of breath when they clumsily dropped down onto the floor, Joker’s limbs tangled up in his due to the clown having hung on for dear life. Bruce pushed him aside and got up, lightly patting at his suit.

“Thanks for the warning,” Joker grumbled, shooting him an angry glare from the floor. Bruce glanced down at him and shrugged, the hint of a smirk on his face. Then he pulled two small, almost translucent devices out of a pocket from his brightly colored belt, and put one of them into his ear. He held the other one between his fingertips in front of Joker’s eyes.

“We’ll be able to keep in contact through this,” he said, dropping the earpiece in Joker’s lap. “You might need to give me some instructions so that I can … portray you correctly,” he added, regretting his decision instantly as Joker’s eyes lit up. “And please, try to stay reasonable.”

“I thought you wanted me to be authentic?” Joker chuckled, putting the communication device into his ear.

Bruce sighed. “You know what I mean,” he said, and pulled at the door handle leading inside the chemical plant. To his surprise, it was unlocked, and the door swung open with a small creaking noise.

It didn’t take long for them to find Bane. The huge man wasn’t exactly the silent type, and they could hear him clearly, even from the overseeing catwalk several floors higher up. He was apparently searching for something, pushing around huge boxes that would be too heavy for anyone else. Then he went on to rip open drawer after drawer of a desk, and Bruce could hear him swearing loudly in Spanish when he turned up empty-handed.

Bruce turned to Joker crouching down beside him, watching Bane through the grid floor, his face eerily illuminated by the tanks filled with glowing liquid below them. It wasn’t the same stuff that had turned Joker into who he was today, but it looked too similar for Bruce’s comfort. He hated this place – he didn’t know how many times he had tried to shut it down, and how many times someone new had bought the place just to return to the same illegal activities. Someday he’d just buy it himself and tear it down. Maybe build an orphanage in its place, or a hospital. Anything else, really.

Bruce signed to Joker that they’d have to split up now; Bruce would go to a lower floor and try to get a surprise attack on Bane, while Joker would stay up here and remain in the shadows. The clown leaned forward and whispered, “I’ll be the bat in your belfry,” before winking and giving him a thumbs-up.

Suppressing a sigh, Bruce made his way down the metal staircase, careful not to make any noise and alarm Bane. He probably shouldn’t have to worry about that though, as the man in the wrestling mask was currently loudly trying to rip open a locked drawer. The drawer ripped open with a high screeching noise and Bane hopefully peeked inside, before pushing it away to the rest of the already opened containers.

Bruce was now exactly one floor above Bane, and he pulled out a small disk that had a smiling face painted on one side, and a face with an expression he could only describe as ‘scowling’ on the other. _Two sides of the same coin_ , Bruce thought, gripping it tighter. It was a shocking device, and if he was lucky it would knock Bane out before the fight could even begin.

He waited for a few more seconds, calculating the distance between them. Just when Bane was done digging through another box and straightened back up, Bruce vaulted over the railing and dropped down. He managed to swing one arm around Bane’s neck, and the man stumbled forward from the sudden weight on his back. He let out a surprised grunt, already grabbing at whatever had just landed on his back and was choking him. Bruce ducked under his searching hand and quickly activated the shock device, before slapping it on one of Bane’s broad shoulder.

He let go of his neck, pushed himself off, and took several steps backward so that the electricity wouldn’t transfer to him as well. Bane turned around, teeth gritted in anger, but before he could get out another word the device’s countdown had run out and sent a continuous shock through his entire body, rooting him to the spot.

“Nine out of ten for that one, but I think you could’ve done a few more flips,” Joker’s voice suddenly sounded in his ear, followed by a low chuckle.

“ _Shut it_ ,” Bruce quietly hissed back while Bane was still distracted. He really didn’t need Joker’s commentary during a fight.

Bane was still twitching heavily, but Bruce watched with wide eyes as he slowly reached for the device on his shoulder. Damn it, he never knew how much voltage he could use on Bane. His physicality was changing rapidly due to the venom he was continuously shooting into his veins, so Bruce couldn’t risk accidentally killing him by using a stronger shock.

Bruce readied a batarang and threw it at Bane’s hand to keep him from reaching and destroying the shock device. He remembered too late that he wasn’t exactly on his best game when it came to throwing them though, so he could only watch as the gadget flew right past Bane, harmlessly bumping against the rim of a trash can and falling into it.

“What a fitting image. Couldn’t have said it better myself,” Joker piped up again through the earpiece, gloating over his misfortune.

Bane had now reached the shock device, ripping it off with a loud roar and crushing it in his bare hand. A few last sparks shot out between his fingers, then Bane opened his fist and let the destroyed pieces of the tool crumble onto the floor. His eyes shot towards Bruce, and a look of surprise crossed his face.

“The payaso has new toys! Shame, I’ve been itching for a _real_ fight,” Bane scoffed, flexing his sore muscles.

“Hah, the fool’s got no clue!” Joker giggled. Bruce considered just getting rid of the annoying voice altogether by throwing the earpiece right after the batarang into the trash can.

“What, got no comeback?” Bane asked, cracking his knuckles with a loud pop. “I know the cowards that listen to you are hiding somewhere, might as well tell them to come out.” He lifted a heavy-looking barrel with a grunt and threw it in Bruce’s direction. Bruce managed to dodge it easily, but Bane had used that time to close in on him for a low punch. Bruce spun in the opposite direction, sidestepping the swinging fist with enough remaining time to regain his distance. Bane was powerful, but he was also very slow. With Joker’s additional speed he definitely had a chance.

“Jeez, I didn’t think I’d have to literally feed you every single line,” Joker said through the communication device. “Where’s my charming banter? My ingenious verbal retaliations?” He sighed theatrically, the audio slightly crackling. “Come on, don’t disappoint me here.”

 _Why did I even bring him with me_ , Bruce wondered, diving down to escape a heavy desk lamp flying over his head. “Nope, just you and me baby,” Bruce replied to Bane’s earlier question, inwardly cringing at his words.

Joker giggled, fortunately not loud enough to reach down to the ground floor. “Sure, flirting always works. Just try not to make me jealous, you little devil.” Another set of muffled chuckles followed.

Bruce’s attention switched back to Bane when the man let out a bellowing laugh. “Your funeral then,” he said, before charging at him. Bruce quickly grabbed a stun grenade - the bright coloring already enough distraction in Bruce’s opinion - from his belt and threw it at Bane. The bright flash and loud noise disoriented Bane enough to slow down his approach. Bruce used that opportunity to throw a set of batarangs at him, hoping that he’d hit at least something, now that Bane was at close range.

And indeed, Bane let out a pained grunt when two of the three sharp gadgets burrowed deeply into the flesh of his left arm. The muscular man pulled them out with gritted teeth, and blood started oozing out of the fresh wounds, lazily dropping on the floor. Bane eyed the batarangs curiously, studying the spiky teeth adorning the rim of the device, tuning the bat-shape into a cruel smile. Bane’s pained expression turned into a sly grin.

“You know, I recently found a weasel in my ranks. I didn’t like its smile, so I decided to get rid of it,” Bane said, flinging the batarangs behind him into the darkness. “It told me something interesting though before I hung it upside down. There have been rumors-”

“I can’t listen to this buffoon anymore!” Joker suddenly piped up, talking over Bane. “Shut him up for me, would you, dear? P-l-e-a-s-e, pleasepleaseple-” Bruce pulled the communication device out of his ear and stuffed it back into his pocket. If the clown didn’t want him to hear what Bane was about to say, it was all the more reason for him to do the exact opposite.

Bane hadn’t stopped talking, and Bruce hoped he hadn’t missed anything important. “-they turned out to be true, for once.” Still talking about the rumors then. “I couldn’t quite believe it, but now that I’ve seen you with the Bat’s tools …” Bane shook his head. “I guess even you are not immune to the laws of mother nature.”

Bruce readied another set of pink and neon green stun grenades, ready to strike anytime. Still, he was curious what Bane was talking about, so he decided to let him finish first, before knocking him out with another charge of his shock device.

“Listen to me, getting all sentimental!” Bane continued, waving his uninjured arm dismissively through the air. “I should be happy, you’ve been a real pain in the ass for everyone in Gotham, and yet – I feel disappointed, most of all. Never thought I’d see the day when the clown would finally lose his bite, to run out of-”

Before he could finish the sentence however, a large shadow suddenly slammed into Bane, forcing his burly form to stumble across the floor and bump into a large set of boxes. A loud crash could be heard when several glass vials where crushed under his heavy weight, and Bane roared in pain as the tiny splinters riddled his back.

“Oops,” Joker said, putting a heavy boot on Bane’s broad chest and pushing him further down into the broken glass with all his weight. “Didn’t mean to _step_ all over you. You were saying?” he growled angrily.

“ _Hijos de pu_ -,” Bane started swearing, but then Joker lifted his foot to kick him square in the teeth. Bruce winced slightly as he heard a sickening crunching sound. Joker had never been one to pull his punches, or kicks for that matter. Damn it, he had the situation under control, there was no need for the clown to have stepped in.

Just as he thought that Bane started making a gurgling sound, and blood started flowing out from underneath Joker’s foot. Bruce was already preparing himself to pull the clown off of Bane, only to realize a second later that Bane wasn’t suffocating after all. He was laughing, and it wasn’t a desperate laugh. It was the sound of someone who had just realized that he’d already won.

Bruce sprinted towards Joker, yelling a warning at him, but it was too late. Bane had already grabbed one of the intact vials, which were filled with a radiant green liquid that Bruce knew all too well. And what had looked like simple glass containers from a distance were now revealing themselves to Bruce to be a stash of syringes, just waiting to be injected into a person’s bloodstream.

Bruce didn’t know how Ace Chemicals had once again been able to slip underneath the radar to produce forbidden substances, nor how Bane had gotten wind of them returning to the illegal business. Not that it mattered at this moment, because Bane had just rammed the injection needle into his neck without hesitation. Bruce watched in horror as the luminous liquid rapidly started pumping through the addict’s protruding veins, filling him with a supernatural strength that would rip anyone else apart.

But not Bane. Joker had yet to realize the imminent danger as he was still busy mutilating Bane’s face. Mad glee lit up his eyes behind the mask at the opportunity to finally use excessive violence again after holding back for the last days.

Bruce had just reached them, stretching out a hand to pull the clown away. But Bane was faster than him, his muscles already bulging underneath his tank top, tearing at the seams. Still leaning half on the crates, half sprawled on the floor, the venom addict pushed himself off, simultaneously grabbing the boot currently busy with crushing his nose.

Bruce was now close enough to put another shocking device on Bane’s shoulder, but before he could activate it Joker was already being slammed into the floor, letting out a breathy grunt as the air was forcefully pushed out of his lungs. Then the electricity finally ran through Bane’s body, but Bruce knew it wouldn’t be enough to stop the monster now that he had taken a full dose of venom.

And indeed, Bane let out a loud roar, before grabbing the gadget and smashing it under his boot, just like before.

 _This is bad_ , Bruce thought. He hopefully glanced at Joker, but the clown was still kneeling on the floor, trying to catch his breath. Bane had thrown him at full force, and from his own past encounters, Bruce knew that Joker was now experiencing the pain of at least a few bruised ribs.

“Now that’s more like it!” Bane grinned menacingly, his smile bloody and gruesome.

Bruce knew that they had lost this fight. He should’ve prepared more, should’ve stopped Bane from injecting himself with venom – should’ve worked together with Joker. Now they had no other opportunity but to escape, or Bane would kill them both.

With the intention of stopping Bane from moving around, Bruce fired a hook, attached to a strong steel rope, at Bane’s waist. He’d be able to connect it to one of the heavy beams supporting the staircase and keep the physically imposing villain at bay for hopefully enough time to let them both escape. He’d tell Gordon to try to stall him as best as he could so that the effects of the drug would wear off – Bane always needed a short time to recover between injections - before going back in and finishing Bane the way he had originally intended to.

That plan was cut short however as Bane grabbed the rope before it could reach him. Bruce’s aim had been slightly off, giving the villain enough time to react. Bruce heard himself letting out a short nervous giggle, and then Bane yanked the gadget out of his hands, pulling Bruce closer at the same time. He was able to dodge a few powerful swings of Bane’s fists before he had to block the villain’s hands with his own.

It took all his strength to keep Bane from simply crushing him then and there. He was just about to use Bane’s weight to send him flying to the floor, when he suddenly felt his prior strength decreasing rapidly. _Shit._ He thought he had had at least a few more seconds before having to recover, but apparently he’d miscalculated.

Bruce tried to slip underneath Bane’s arm but instead cried out as the criminal twisted his arms like they were wet towels he was trying to wring out. Blinded by the sharp pain shooting up his shoulders and into his head, Bruce didn’t see Joker approaching Bane from behind.

Or the victorious grin on Bane’s face as he smashed Bruce’s head violently into the steel knee pads he was wearing. Bruce fought with the darkness threatening to engulf him, before he felt himself being flung across the room like a rag doll. He didn’t feel the impact; his vision had already faded to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel slightly (only the teeniest, tiniest bit) sorry for leaving you all on this cliffhanger for the next, let's say about three weeks again, because university is still taking up all of my time. Ah well, that's life. Thank you all so much for sticking with this!
> 
> Cheers! <3
> 
> [Edit: I'm sorry for being so quiet, I'll answer all the comments and upload next chapter after my exams are done, which will be in another 3 to 4 weeks, I hope you guys understand. Thank you all so much for your love and support! <3]  
> 
> 
> Art for this chapter: [quick make-up session](https://thescarypaper.tumblr.com/post/619391690832216064/i-should-wait-until-i-post-the-chapter-heres-that) done by me ((yes, there will be more in the future, I couldn't possibly let all those suggestions go to waste :D ))


	10. In the summer silence, I was getting violent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back!
> 
> Thank you all so much for your patience, I'll get back to answering your lovely comments in the next days :) This chapter is not beta-read - I didn't want to keep you waiting any longer than necessary, so all mistakes are on me.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> [chapter title: [Mama's Gun](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4pibPTdLcsc) by Glass Animals]

“Hit me, baby, one more time!” Joker sang along to the radio, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat.

He glanced at the slumped down form in the passenger seat beside him, the only sign of life the slow rising and falling of the shoulders. The Bat had surely taken a beating; blood was smeared all over his face, the purple suit had been ripped at several places and Joker was sure that Bane had bruised if not broken at least a few bones. Even with Joker’s quick recovery rate, Batman would need at least a few days before being able to chase people over rooftops again.

Well, maybe he’d finally learned his lesson and start accepting Joker’s help. A smirk appeared on the clown’s face as he drove over another red light. He always thought that they’d be a great team. “Joker and Batman; partners in crime,” Joker said, humming approvingly. It had a nice ring to it. And it was something they hadn’t tried yet. A new dance.

His musings were interrupted by a low groan coming from the seat beside him. “Ah, sleeping beauty has finally deemed us worthy enough to grace us with his presence!” Joker exclaimed, watching Batman from the corner of his eyes. He raised one hand to his forehead, before looking around the car, confused.

“Bane?” he asked, voice raspy. Joker rolled his eyes. Of course, Batman would ask for the villain first, instead of being concerned about his own injuries. Still, Joker didn’t like the blood sprinkling on Batman’s lips as he coughed violently, the bright red mixing with his smudged lipstick. He pushed down harder on the gas pedal, already way over the speed limit.

“Dunno,” Joker shrugged, turning the music lower. “I’m just surprised I got us out of there with our heads intact.” Batman groaned, massaging his temples. “Well, mostly,” Joker added. “If you need to puke please open the window, I just cleaned the car.”

Batman shook his head but quickly stopped, nausea overcoming him. He took a deep breath, his face buried in his hands. “We need to go back,” he said, but didn’t sound too motivated himself.

Joker let out a short laugh. “Shame I’m the one sitting behind the wheel,” he grinned, taking a sharp turn that pressed them both into their seats. It was no Batmobile for sure, but the old-looking car had more horsepower than a first glance would suggest. Modified, of course.

“How long was I out?” Batman asked, wincing as he twisted his upper body to pull out his phone, probably to text Gordon about the situation.

“Ten minutes, maybe?” Joker replied. “We should be at the cave in another fifteen.”

“Or not at all if you get pulled over for breaking every single traffic rule on the way,” Batman commented, but made no move to take over the wheel. Joker winked at him. “Not if they can’t catch me.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, accompanied by the radio playing an old pop song in the background. Batman had decided to check on his wounds now after all, gritting his teeth in pain when he pressed slightly down on his side.

“Hey, could you tell me how many times I’ve saved your cute butt now? I’ve lost count,” Joker finally broke the quiet. He was getting tired of not receiving even a simple ‘thanks’. It wasn’t as if he was actively trying to play the hero, and he had to admit that it was just a bit confusing even to himself; to help the Bat for a change instead of throwing a wrench in his works every time he got the chance to. It was new territory for both of them, and Joker recognized that Batman was struggling to keep up the precarious truce just as much as he was.

“You wouldn’t have had to if you had only listened to me and stayed out of the fight,” Batman replied, staring out the window.

Joker suddenly slammed his foot on the brake, almost sending Batman flying through the windshield if he hadn’t buckled him in before. The belt still painfully cut into his shoulder and stomach, letting Batman cry out. “Oh, _excuse me_ , I’ll just let your rib cage get crushed underneath Bane’s foot next time,” Joker snapped, hands tightening on the wheel.

“I had everything under control, until you handed Bane the venom on a silver plate,” Batman retorted, pressing a hand to his stomach where a wound was slowly staining his suit.

“Oh please, as if the same couldn’t have happened to you,” Joker countered, glaring at the man beside him. It’s not like he had known that that box had contained the drug. Sure, Batman had told him to keep away, but he’d be damned if he let Bane just spread rumors about his personal issues around. Not that he would normally care, but … this was big. And Joker had no clue what to do with it himself, so he’d rather not let every damn person in Gotham know for now.

He shot another side glance at Batman who had chosen not to reply, but the way he tightly pressed his lips together betrayed his anger. He’d put the pieces together sooner or later. If he hadn’t already and had just decided to collect more evidence. Typical.

A part of Joker wanted him to figure it out though. It hadn’t been a conscious decision at the time, but he liked to think now that Batman had spent the last nights turning in his sleep, trying to figure out what it all meant.

This was important to Joker, and now it was also important to Batman, if he wanted to or not.

A small smile played around his lips. Yes, this was nice. He certainly wasn’t one to start asking the Bat riddles now - Gotham already had one too many of those – but he couldn’t deny the pleasure and feeling of power he experienced when dancing with his nemesis on an intellectual level. He just hoped Batman was up for the challenge.

Ah, what was he saying, of course he was. He’d always been reliable like that.

* * *

A familiar smell engulfed him, the smell of an oncoming storm, and leather, and metal. It reminded him of lonely but peaceful nights, perched on top of a gargoyle on a high building, the rain running down his cape in small rivers. Bruce shuddered as a cold gush of wind hit his bare face, and he buried himself deeper into the warmth radiating off the body beside him.

The arms carrying him pressed him tighter in return. Bruce was about to let out a carefree sigh, when a sharp pain suddenly bolted up his side, and the sigh quickly turned into a wince as he gritted his teeth.

“Oh, don’t be such a wuss,” mumbled a deep voice just above his head. Confused and disoriented, Bruce opened his eyes, only to realize seconds later that he was currently being carried bridal style by none other than himself – well, Joker. Damn it, he must’ve blacked out again in the car.

“Let me down,” he growled, this time pushing himself away from the chest clad in Kevlar.

“Can you believe this guy?” Joker said to someone outside of Bruce’s field of view. “Drooling all over the seats a few minutes ago, but ready to jump back into the fray faster than I can say ‘nincompoop’ **.** I don’t know how you deal with him on a daily basis, to be honest. Hell, if I were you, I would’ve quit my job long ago.”

“It has its benefits.” Bruce immediately recognized Alfred’s voice. He began actively struggling against Joker’s grip now – he couldn’t let the clown just roam around freely with Alfred this close.

“Ah, now we’re talking,” Joker grinned, before almost tripping over his own feet when Bruce pushed an elbow into his chest. “Would you- Stop that!” Joker hissed, before not too gently dropping him onto a hard surface. Bruce grimaced as his ribs shifted uncomfortably, and he decided that remaining still for now would probably be better if he didn’t want to blackout again.

“Don’t worry, Master Bruce,” Alfred said, patting at his jacket, “I know how to defend myself.”

“Alfred-,” Bruce started to object but his butler threw him one of those looks, and Bruce decided to keep quiet. He could still intervene should Joker try anything. Maybe.

“Let’s look at what you have gotten yourself into this time, shall we, sir?” Alfred asked, and without waiting for an answer he motioned to Bruce to take off his suit. Bruce complied and shook off his overcoat, but when he tried to unbutton his vest, he couldn’t quite move his left arm without the motion sending stars across his vision. Bruce realized that he’d dislocated his shoulder, but the pain had been neutralized by everything else that was hurting just about as much.

 _God, I’d be dead by now had Joker not pulled me out of there_ , Bruce realized, turning his head to the side to see that the clown was watching him intently as if waiting for some sort of reaction. Bruce was about to ask what was bothering him when Joker leaned forward and started unbuttoning the vest for him.

He was taking his time, circling every button with his fingers first before slowly pushing it through the hole. Bruce didn’t quite understand how Joker managed to make it look so delicate with the chunky gauntlets he was wearing. The repeating movement was hypnotizing, and Bruce found himself once again wondering about Joker’s true intentions.

“Thanks,” he mumbled quietly when Joker was finished. His hands stayed on Bruce’s now naked torso for a few seconds longer than necessary, only the thin fabric around Joker’s fingertips separating them.

Then Joker pulled back, a victorious grin on his face. Damn it, sometimes the clown could play him like a fiddle. But he had to admit that he was truly grateful for Joker’s help, even if he hadn’t obeyed his orders. On the other hand, it had been his own mistake to think that anyone could ever give the clown any orders – he did what he wanted to do, always had. And it was just his luck that Joker had decided to help him out for once. Why that decision had been made, however … Bruce had no idea, and it was beginning to drive him mad. Which was probably the exact reason why Joker was doing all this – just to mess with him.

His train of thought was interrupted when Alfred awkwardly cleared his throat. “Should we get that shoulder back in order first, sir?”

Bruce grimaced, knowing that it would hurt like hell, but then nodded reluctantly. Better to get the worst part over with at the start.

“You need to pull his body upwards,” Alfred explained to Joker, taking Bruce’s left arm and gently pushing it into a ninety-degree angle.

Joker pretended that he hadn’t heard him, busy with taking off his mask. When he had put it away, he slowly turned around and pointed at the bat symbol on his chest with his index finger. “Me?” he mouthed at Bruce, brows raised in fake confusion.

Alfred ignored him and studied Bruce’s shoulder with a trained eye. “Chop chop then. We don’t have all day,” he said, entirely focused on the task ahead. “There has to be a counterweight-”

“Oh, no, I know how it works,” Joker interrupted, cocking his head to the side. “I’ve had my fair share of dislocated limbs. Right Bats?” he said, slapping Bruce hard on the back. A new wave of pain washed through his body, and Bruce shot Joker an angry glare.

Joker started laughing but stopped just as quickly when he realized that he wasn’t as funny as he thought he was. That’s at least what Bruce liked to think – or maybe the deadly look that Alfred had on his face was getting to Joker. “Calm down, I’ll behave,” the clown said, rolling his eyes. Then he stepped around the bed and leaned over Bruce, putting a hand on each of his shoulders. “This might hurt a little,” he whispered, close to Bruce’s ear.

“Just get it over with already,” Bruce answered.

After fixing his shoulder, Alfred efficiently continued to patch Bruce up. While he continued to work on Bruce, Joker fit surprisingly well into that old routine. He handed Alfred the right tools when he politely asked for them, held a bandage in place while the old man fixated it, and even laid off with the bad jokes when Alfred had to concentrate. If Bruce had to guess, he’d say that Alfred had somehow earned Joker’s respect, or at least some form of it. The same couldn’t be said about the butler himself, but he remained as polite and well-mannered as always throughout the whole ordeal.

Making sure that there was nothing left to do to help Bruce recover, Alfred had brought them both a plate of his famous quiche before departing to represent Bruce at an early board meeting of Wayne Industries.

As always, Bruce then had proceeded to ignore the prescribed bed rest and was now instead sitting in front of the Batcomputer, dreading the result of last night’s escapade.

“ _Bane bane-ished!_ Oh my,” Joker read out loud, shaking his head. “ _The bane of Gotham strikes once more!_ ” He chuckled. “And you thought my puns were _bane-al_.”

Bruce ignored him while he scrolled through the articles, relieved when he found that Bane had been successfully apprehended without any major losses in the police department. Apparently Gordon had been wise enough to wait for the venom to wear off so that he could subdue Bane. Bruce scrunched up his nose when he read that several officers had been hospitalized, but at least none of them were in a critical state.

He was just about to open the official police report when Dr. Cuţov’s face suddenly appeared on the screen. “Batman? Can you hear me?” Sofia asked, her face getting bigger as she held the communication device closer to her face. “Is this thing even on?” she mumbled, turning it left and right.

Bruce quickly waved to Joker to put his mask on, before answering the call.

“Dr. Cuţov,” he said, giving her a short nod. “Are you finished?” he inquired, aware that he sounded like an impatient child asking his mom if they were there yet.

He shouldn’t have expected for her to finish after just a few days, but he still felt disappointed when Sofia shook her head. “Oh, no, I’m sorry. I’ve only just started and … well I can’t say for sure, but it’ll take me a few more weeks at least.”

“I called because,” she paused for a short moment, glancing at something behind her. “I’ve, well, I’ve run out of Plasticite. That’s what I call the substance I use to reform the brain,” she quickly added when she saw Bruce’s raised eyebrow.

“And you need us because …,” Joker said, draping an arm over Bruce’s chair.

Sofia sighed. “I could make my own, but the main ingredient takes months to synthesize. I … know where we can get some more though,” she said, before nervously nibbling at her lip. “I … uhm, heard that Dr. Crane has just what we need.”

Bruce’s raised eyebrow only went up higher. Sofia really wasn’t a very good liar. “You _heard_ about that.”

Joker inquisitively leaned forward over Bruce’s shoulder, a knowing smirk on his face. “Calling the good doctor by his title, hm?”

Sofia blinked in surprise, before she knitted her eyebrows together. “Look, the chemical compound is called F-34R, there should be plenty of that stuff in _Scarecrow_ ’s lab,” she said, completely ignoring their remarks. “I’ll send you the formula and the location of the lab in a second. I don’t need it immediately, but the sooner the better.”

She let out an annoyed huff, but then the angry look on her face softened. “Please … be careful.” Then the screen went back to the file on Bane’s apprehension.

Joker glanced side-ways at Bruce, his fingernails making a scratchy sound as he dragged them over the backrest of the chair. “So, she even knows where Johnny’s secret hidey-hole is. My, how naïve we were.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Bruce said, glaring at the screen. This discussion wasn’t far from over yet. If Dr. Sofia Cuţov had a connection to Scarecrow, he’d figure it out, sooner or later. “At least for now. We have other things to worry about.”

* * *

“No, no, you need to- It has to be faster, like a short flick with the wrist,” Bruce sighed. “Imagine you’re trying to flip a pancake.”

“Flip a … pancake,” Joker repeated slowly, staring at the batarang in his hand.

“Yeah, like when you need to quickly push the pancake to the edge so that it doesn’t fold in on itself …,” Bruce trailed off, realizing that he sounded ridiculous. He clicked his tongue, before grabbing a batarang himself and stepping next to the clown.

They had been training for three days now. Or rather Joker had been training, as Bruce had been using the time to rest and recover. The beating he had received from Bane had been bad, and normally it would’ve taken him at least a few weeks to be where he was now. Instead, the only trace of his battered appearance from before were a few bruises and a lingering ache in his bones, hardly enough for an excuse to not train today.

So, train he would. With Joker. He had caved rather quickly to the clown’s pleas to let him train with Batman’s gadgets after what had happened with Bane. Since then Joker had not flung any shock devices at him or shattered anything with the batclaw, so until now Bruce had no reason to regret his decision.

Joker impatiently tapped his foot on the floor, before shaking his head and placing the batarang back on the table. “Flip a pancake, my ass,” he murmured. “I thought I’d get a hang of these things sooner.”

Bruce shrugged. “It’s not just muscle memory, you need to calculate the distance and angle-,“ he stopped himself when Joker rolled his eyes at him.

“Right, I’ll try to remember to take my calculator with me next time we fight someone.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. A challenging smirk appeared on Joker’s face as he walked towards him, stopping close enough that his nose was just sticking into Bruce’s personal space, but not anywhere near enough to justify for Bruce to step back.

“How’s the shoulder handsome?” Joker asked, glancing up at him from underneath his eyelashes. He had that puppy-eyed look on his face again, Bruce’s own blue eyes staring back at him innocently.

“Spare me that look, please,” Bruce said and pushed past the clown. Grabbing a bandage from a drawer, he started wrapping his lean hands, ignoring the excited smile that started spreading across Joker’s face. He was just about to tuck the end of the bandage in, when a heavy weight suddenly slammed into his left knee bend, easily tripping him and sending him onto the floor.

A low chuckle sounded above him. “Didn’t know I could sweep you off your feet that easily dear. Must be my newly acquired billionaire’s charm,” Joker said while nonchalantly picking at his nails.

Bruce huffed and steadied himself on one knee. Sensing more than actually seeing the incoming kick, he extended a hand before Joker’s boot could connect with his face. A slight twist of the wrist, a surprised yelp, and Joker was tumbling to the floor next to him.

“Joker, _stop_ ,” Bruce almost growled. He should’ve known that training with the clown would be an all-or-nothing fight. He doubted that Joker could hold back once they started their old dance, and Bruce wasn’t sure if he could either. Adrenaline was already flooding his system, the addictive rush making contours sharper and sounds clearer.

Joker laughed, a shrill laugh that sounded nothing at all like Bruce, and grabbed Bruce’s leg, pulling himself closer. Bruce tried to kick him in the chest to push him away, but Joker caught his other leg and held it in place as he settled himself on Bruce’s abdomen, pinning him to the floor with his weight.

“Doesn’t look like you want me to stop,” Joker whispered as he leaned forward, and Bruce’s heart skipped a beat as those blue eyes shone with violent glee. They stared at each other for a second, Joker’s face hovering closely over Bruce’s.

Then Bruce snapped out of it and flung Joker over his head by pushing his legs off the ground, tapping into that hidden strength of his new body. Free from the weight, Bruce could finally get to his feet again, before creating some distance between himself and the clown to catch his breath.

No, this wasn’t their old dance, this was something new. He couldn’t stop his hands from twitching, as if they were playing an instrument he couldn’t see, and his blood was boiling in his veins, whispering to him that only violence would provide him sweet release. A playful giggle bubbled in his throat and he let it out, afraid that suppressing it would cause him to lose it completely.

Joker on the other hand had also gotten up to his feet, but when he heard Bruce’s small laugh, he stopped dead in his tracks, body going completely still. Bruce could’ve imagined it, but he thought he could see a slight shiver running through him.

“Damn it,” Bruce said, trying to calm himself down. “This won’t work.” They’d hurt each other, badly, if they were to fight like this, unhinged and without any discipline, he was sure of it. He had thought they could just throw and block a few of each other’s punches and kicks here and there so that they could get a feel for their new bodies. Of course, Joker would immediately jump at the opportunity to make it messy and chaotic. Of course, Joker’s own body would fight against any restraints Bruce forced it into.

Joker glared at him from across the room, before relaxing his posture and slumping down in a chair. “I guess Spooky wouldn’t be too scared of us if we already looked like we’d fallen down one too many stairs on our way to him when we knock on his door, I give you that. So, what do you propose we do?” Joker asked, waving his hands through the air. “Continue murdering the poor dummies? Cause I’ve run all out of ideas.”

“Well, that’s a first,” Bruce commented, sliding into the chair beside the clown with a tired sigh.

Joker remained quiet.

 _What, no comeback?_ , Bruce thought, watching Joker. He was looking in the direction of the computer, a thoughtful expression on his face. Then Bruce noticed the light movement of his lower lip, as if he was slightly gnawing on the inside of his cheek. A habit Bruce had been trying and failing to suppress whenever he felt agitated.

“Wait,” Bruce said more to himself than to Joker as he replayed the last few sentences of their conversation in his mind.

And then it finally clicked, and Bruce didn’t know whether he was completely off in his deduction or if he should punch himself for not seeing the obvious earlier.

His epiphany must have been evident on his face, because Joker suddenly let his constructed façade falter. “Took you long enough,” he murmured as he shot Bruce an annoyed glance. “Have I been haunting your dreams at least?”

“For as long as I can remember,” Bruce replied before he could stop himself, receiving a sly smile in return. “In nightmares, I mean,” he added weakly. Joker hummed, studying him carefully, awaiting his reaction.

“It’s … true then?” Bruce asked carefully. Joker simply continued looking at him, making Bruce uncomfortable with his icy stare as he himself had done so many times before. He felt like he was being interrogated or interviewed for an important job, so he did what he felt was right and laid out everything he could provide to his interrogator.

“You’ve been acting … different since I caught you on that rooftop. You were quiet for so long, and … I don’t know, I guess I expected something grand, something that would literally blow me away,” Bruce said, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “And all I get is a mysterious notebook. If the … switch wasn’t all your scheme, after all. Then I’d be seriously impressed.”

Joker opened his mouth to respond, but Bruce wasn’t quite finished yet. “But even the notebook didn’t really mean anything, did it now? It was just adding to that unnecessary secrecy, to hide the obvious thing right before my eyes.” Bruce shook his head. At least Joker was honest enough to let him know that he was right. “Bane would’ve almost spoiled the surprise. Hell, he handed me the solution on a silver-plate and it took me until now to truly believe it – which was your plan all along, of course.”

Joker cocked his head to one side. “Well, spit it out, detective. The audience is waiting,” the clown said, leaning forward as if he himself couldn’t take the suspense anymore.

Bruce shrugged. “You’ve run out of ideas. Plots, schemes, whatever you want to call them. And now you don't know what to do with yourself, plain and simple.”

“Plain and simple,” Joker repeated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next stop: Everyone's favorite spooky boy! 
> 
> Stay safe, stay awesome and most importantly: Cheers!


	11. Yet from those flames no light, but rather darkness visible

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chap, my dudes! I'll try to stick to the monthly update from here on out, thank you all for your patience! <3
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> [chapter title: [Darkness Visible](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2WFl6nSOATU) by Mumford & Sons]

“I wasn’t carrying around that notebook just for show, y’know,” Joker said quietly, watching the rain splash against the passenger window as they drove towards the location Cuţov had given them.

Bruce glanced at Joker, before refocusing on the street. The clown had remained quiet since their last conversation a few hours before, and Bruce couldn’t say that he hadn’t appreciated the silence. It had given him time to think – not about Joker’s tantrums though, he’d already given them enough attention.

Joker waited for some time for a response and made an annoyed sound when he got none. “I thought it would give me … I don’t know,” he said, running a hand through his black hair. “Inspiration? A new perspective? They say that writing down your thoughts helps sort through the mess. Guess I’m a lost cause,” he shrugged and laughed, but it sounded forced.

“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” Bruce finally replied, tired of Joker’s lamentations. He hoped that all the clown needed to finally let the subject slide was a bit of confidence from his nemesis. And Bruce wasn’t even pretending – Joker always came up with a new devious scheme. It was their routine, their “dance”, as Joker called it.

But instead of the reaction Bruce had hoped to evoke from the clown, Joker did the exact opposite. Instead of calming down, appeased by Bruce’s reassuring words, he whirled around in his seat, baring his teeth at Bruce. His eyes were glistening with furious anger as his gloved hand tightly grabbed Bruce’s left arm.

“You really don’t understand _anything_ , do you now. And here I thought _you_ of all people, _you_ …,” he trailed off, eyes losing focus, before coming back to Bruce with even more intensity in them, something Bruce didn’t think possible until now. “But I guess you don’t _fucking_ care.”

Bruce shot him a warning look as Joker pulled on his arm, letting the car veer to the right before Bruce was able to steer it back on the road. It didn’t seem like Joker would let this go anytime soon, so Bruce decided to park the vehicle in the next best side street before the clown managed to kill them both in a car crash.

They stared at each other for a few moments, the air between them heating up as the car’s motor cooled down, cracking lightly in the warm summer rain. Joker was still gripping his upper biceps, and Bruce didn’t dare to try to pry it loose in fear of angering the clown even further. He wasn’t quite sure why what he said was wrong, but he … god, he did care after all, didn’t he?

“I _do_ care,” Bruce said, looking Joker dead in the eye. “Of course I care,” he continued, only realizing that those words were indeed true when he said them out loud. “But you have to admit, you make it very hard for people to care about you,” he finished, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Huh,” Joker replied, eloquent as always, before loosening his iron grip and letting his arm fall back to his side.

Breaking eye contact, Bruce massaged the bridge of his nose and let out a small sigh. “Look, I understand that this means a lot to you, but I need you to explain it to me, okay? It’s not like I can read your mind.” He shifted in his seat to face towards Joker, hopefully making clear that he’d listen to him; silently hoping that Joker wouldn’t blow this opportunity, because Bruce didn’t know how much patience he still had left in him.

Joker studied him for what seemed like an excruciatingly long time and Bruce tried his best to keep his open expression unchanged. Apparently he had succeeded, because Joker finally pulled back with a long sigh, emanating tiredness that Bruce only knew all to well from himself.

“To put it in rather lofty words: I’ve become the very thing I swore to destroy,” Joker grimaced. Bruce raised an eyebrow. What he had become? Bruce could think of many examples in the clown’s case. A lunatic? A criminal? A murderer?

“An _automaton_. A predictable, monotonous _robot_. A _cog_ in the great machine,” he said, resting his feet on the dashboard of the car and letting his hands weave intricate designs through the air, as he so often did when explaining something grand.

Bruce, however, couldn’t quite follow him. “I thought you liked our routine.” ‘Liked’ being a huge understatement.

“Oh, I do!” Joker exclaimed, a light flickering alive in his eyes as memories of their old encounters flashed through his mind. But as quickly as it had appeared it vanished again, and Bruce saw that tiredness on Joker’s face once more; the resemblance to himself greater than Bruce had seen ever since he had found Joker in the cave.

“Or, at least I _did_ ,” Joker continued. “I did enjoy our violent dance. A punch there in response to a kick here, one, two, three, _boom_ , there goes another building, one, two, three …,” he trailed off, hands suddenly still. “But I feel like we’ve tried _every single step_ in the books, dear. There are only so many things I can do, and that you can do, to keep this dance interesting. And I’ve come to the realization as of late that from here on out we can only … rinse-and-repeat. We’ve become … _predictable_ ,” Joker spat, gritting his teeth.

Bruce stared at him, the implications of Joker’s words hitting him like a train he hadn’t seen coming even in his wildest dreams. But before his brain could start conjuring up any hopeful scenarios, he had to make sure he had heard right.

“So, you’re saying,” he paused, sure that Joker had meant it in a different way and that he was about to make a complete fool out of himself, “that you … want to quit?”

“No!” Joker exclaimed and Bruce felt his heart drop, but then the clown knitted his eyebrows together in confusion. “Yes?” Pause. “Maybe.”

 _Maybe._ Maybe Joker wanted to quit. To abandon his past and start a new chapter. A better chapter? Bruce was equally frightened and excited to ask that next question: “And what will you do … when you quit?”

Joker raised an eyebrow at him, surely having noticed the “when” instead of an “if” but didn’t comment on it. He shrugged. “Open up that restaurant I told you about?” he chuckled. “Hell, I don’t _know_ , Bats, what options do I have? _Don’t_ -,“ he held up a hand when Bruce opened his mouth. “Just … don’t.”

Bruce knew he was probably just getting his hopes up. Of course Joker would not accept his offer like this, never would, even under these circumstances. Still, he’d never been so _close_. If there was a chance to get Joker help, this was it. However, he was missing the most important thing: Joker’s trust.

Well, no time like the present, right?

* * *

“I’ll say, I don’t think we’ll find more than a bit of straw lying around. Maybe a cockroach or two if we’re lucky. Ugh, I hate it when Scrawny lets his pets run around like that, nasty little buggers,” Joker rambled, leaning against the wall as he waited for Bruce to finish picking the lock.

They were on the upper floor of an empty office building, just outside the place Cuţov had named them. Which was why Bruce shortly nodded in agreement to Joker’s words – he also didn’t think that they’d find much, least of all the serum Cuţov was looking for. If Bruce’s suspicions about Sofia were right, then Crane would know that Cuţov knew the location of his lab. Crane wouldn’t want to take any risks – he probably vacated the location as soon as possible, leaving no trace of his whereabouts behind. Well, better to check the place than to sit by idly, maybe they’d find a clue with some luck.

The door clicked open and Bruce entered silently, Joker following close behind. Bruce had checked the owner of the complex beforehand, grimacing when the computer gave him the name of one “Dr. Edward Ad”, or Dr. E. Ad. It made even Joker roll his eyes, but Bruce had to admit that there weren’t a lot of name puns Crane could use. Maybe he could let Joker compile a list and search for any suspicious activity.

“Oh no,” Joker whispered, looking alarmed. Bruce immediately followed his eyes to try and spot the danger, but could only see the usual office equipment, covered in a thin sheet of dust. “What is it?” he whispered back, but got no response.

Joker slowly approached one of the desks, shaking his head. He let one gloved hand wander across the cover of an old printer, leaving a dirty grey on his fingertips. Then he turned back to Bruce, his eyes wide. “You think he let them do _office work_ all day? I know Spookes likes to warm his victims up for his toxin sometimes, but this … this is going too far, even for my tastes.” He tried keeping up his serious face, but failed spectacularly at doing so.

Bruce groaned, but couldn’t help his mouth corners tugging slightly upward. After spending the last days with the clown in relative peace, Bruce found that he actually started to like Joker’s bad puns and inappropriate comments.

 _Maybe I’ve always found his jokes funny_ , Bruce realized. _If it wasn’t for the deadly punchline._ But maybe that could change.

Of course, Joker immediately picked up Bruce’s expression, and after a few seconds of stunned silence, he went on, “Oh, the humiliating horror! Tantalizing tyranny! Abysmal agony!” He made a dramatic pause. “Just what do you _do_ all day long? Except for scanning and printing your various dangly bits, making skipping ropes out of paper clips and making your own insect fighting arena out of folders underneath your table, of course.” He put a finger on his lips, lost in thought. “What do _you_ do in your office all day?”

Bruce raised his eyebrows in surprise. Joker showing interest in his daytime persona? That was a first. “All the things you just listed, and in between, I play Pinball with binders and ping pong balls against my imaginary friends … they’re not very good,” Bruce answered, earning a light-hearted chuckle out of Joker.

Bruce allowed himself a small smile in return, before shrugging. “I’m rarely in my office, to be honest.” He followed Joker further into the room, looking for any trace Crane might’ve left behind. “Conferences, galas, the sort of things where my presence is required.” He stopped at an empty table next to Joker, leaning closer to see whether there were any telling imprints left in the dust.

Joker scoffed, and Bruce could see his smile slipping from his face out of the corner of his eye. “You’re such a hypocrite.”

Bruce hummed, letting Joker interpret his response. “I wasn’t lying when I said that being Bruce Wayne has its perks. I … wasn’t talking about my job, though,” he then said, turning around to find Joker standing very close to him, personal space being a foreign concept to him as always.

The words about his family suddenly wouldn’t come out of his mouth, so Bruce quickly changed back to their previous topic. “I admit, the conferences aren’t all that exciting, and the galas and charity events … let’s say that Riddler’s puzzles are often easier to solve than some of the twisted intricacies some people manage to conjure around themselves.”

“And I’d say you’re giving Riddler too much credit,” Joker responded. Then his eyes narrowed, and he stepped even closer to Bruce, almost standing on his toes now. “What about those girls you pick up? I’m sure they make these “social events” at least bearable.”

Bruce furrowed his brow in confusion. “I don’t do that.” The newspapers were saying otherwise, of course, always searching for a new scandal about famous Bruce Wayne, as if Gotham didn’t have enough stories to cover already.

“No?” Joker asked, not believing him. “You don’t, ah …,” he smirked slightly, before delicately placing his hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “Invite them to a little dance, perhaps?” Fingers curled into Bruce’s green hair, playfully tugging on a strand. “Silently hoping for more?”

He knew that Joker was just waiting for Bruce to shrug him off, but Bruce had another idea.

He thought back to their conversation in the car. If he wanted to gain Joker’s trust, he couldn’t keep brushing him off like that, effectively rejecting him. No, he would have to return the sentiment first. It was a crazy idea, but Gotham really wasn’t the place for a sane mind. Or maybe it was just the remnants of Joker’s brain whispering into his ear, like the little devil on the shoulder people constantly burdened with their sins.

Bruce’s white, ghostly hand snuck around Joker’s waist, the pale skin a glaring contrast to the dark suit. He could hear Joker let out a small gasp. Bruce couldn’t help but smirk slightly at the reaction. “No, I don’t,” Bruce answered to the clown’s previous question.

Joker’s eyes shot up to his, searching for something. Whatever it was, he must’ve found it, because a wide smile spread over his face, far greater than Bruce’s. “Hypocrite.”

And despite the cacophonous choir in his head screaming that this was _wrong_ on so many levels, Bruce felt strangely at peace.

He looked down at Joker, his mouth hanging slightly open and his blue eyes fixated on his face. Bruce stared back, once again marveling at the fact how easy it was for him to read Joker’s emotions now, because he _knew_ those eyes. He expected to find a victorious glint in them now, maybe a condescending superiority as well. After all this was Batman, finally giving in to The Joker. Was this what this was? Or was Bruce giving the person behind the clown make-up another chance?

But all Bruce saw in those eyes was honest joy, making his heart ache in the strangest way.

They couldn’t have been standing like this for more than a few seconds, but it suddenly felt like Bruce had been staring at Joker for much longer. He awkwardly looked to the side and was in the process of retreating his arm, when he caught a strange reflection of light on one of the tinted windows.

By the time he heard the small popping sound of the tranquilizer gun, it was already too late to pull them both out of the path of the projectile. Instead, Bruce harshly pulled Joker close to his chest, turning them both around in the process, shielding Joker from whatever was coming for Bruce now.

He felt a small prick in his right arm.

 _Well, that wasn’t so bad_ , Bruce thought.

“Damn it!” Joker exclaimed, pretending to straighten his cowl as he turned back around. “What are you-”

“It appears that I’ve caught myself some vermin,” Crane’s strange crisp yet lulling voice cut him off. “Most. Bothersome.” He clicked his tongue, followed by another click as he reloaded his gun.

“Finally realized that you don’t belong in the pit?” Bruce commented, nodding at the modified rifle.

“I realized there are more elegant ways,” Crane answered in a patronizing tone and pulled his mouth corners slightly upward. Scarecrow had never been a good fist-fighter, and Bruce hoped that he wasn’t a better shot. His toxin was nasty enough at close range; the thought of Crane being able to administer it from several meters away was quite bothersome, especially because the fluid version of the toxin was more concentrated and aggressive than the gas.

Speaking of which; Bruce gingerly plucked the now empty dart from his arm and threw it to the side. Either Crane hadn’t perfected his ranged toxin yet, or … wait. He was in Joker’s body, and Joker was immune to all of Crane’s concoctions. Maybe-

A sharp pain shot through his brain, burning and freezing his synapses at the same time. The sensation didn’t even last a second, but the intensity was enough to disorient Bruce. He already had a feeling of what would come next, but that wouldn’t make it any easier.

He struggled to grab the syringe with the antidote he’d stuffed into his jacket. When he had finally gotten a hold of it, his hands were shaking badly already, and he quickly rammed it into his arm.

A few seconds passed, but nothing happened. New one then. Damn, Crane had done his homework.

His vision was starting to blur and distort around the edges. As he tried to focus on Scarecrow, the unimposing man suddenly grew in size, sharp teeth dripping black ooze as he grinned down at his prey. Bruce shook his head to get rid of the dizziness, but that only made it worse.

“Now _that_ is rather unusual,” Crane drawled as he watched Bruce closely. His voice was accompanied by a metallic sound, as if he had nails stuck in his throat. He curiously cocked his head to the side. It wouldn’t stop turning, until a sickening crack let a chill run down Bruce’s back.

Bruce knew that closing his eyes to the hallucinations would only make it worse, so he tried to take a calming breath, but his lungs suddenly felt too small to hold enough air in them.

He hated this part, but he dreaded the next one even more. He never knew what to expect when the toxin slowly oozed into his brain, digging through various fears before finally settling on his deepest, darkest memory. And Bruce knew what waited for him there. He wouldn’t be in control as he was now when the toxin took over all of his senses. Which was probably the worst part; his nightmares coming to life, as real as they had been so many years ago. No way to escape except enduring them.

His eyes drifted through the room, searching for something that wasn’t as disturbing as the rest. Walls slowly disintegrating into burned ashes, printers suddenly spitting out newspaper articles of various catastrophes, dead plants having spider legs instead of dry leaves. It was all a bit over the top. Joker probably would’ve laughed at the irony. “Don’t see much of a difference to the real thing,” he’d say.

His eyes fell on the clown, and stayed there. Joker was constantly changing and twisting like the rest of the world, but Bruce thought that he could see true concern in his eyes, so he clung to that. Joker held his gaze for a while, before rolling his eyes.

He noticed hazily that he’d sunken down to one knee, his hand clinging loosely to a table, a charade to tell himself that he still had enough strength to get up. He knew that it would take him several minutes more to get through the worst part.

Joker bent down next to him, and Bruce tried not to shrink back from the mask that had fused with the face behind it, like a gargoyle turned to life. “If this continues, maybe we should think about leaving things as they are. You’re not exactly living up to expectations, darling,” Joker grinned cockily. “Me on the other hand …”

Even through the looming mist that had settled over his mind, Bruce managed to shoot Joker a glare.

Then the toxin took over his brain completely, sending him to that alley he knew all too well.

He clung to his mother’s hand, while his father had protectively placed a hand on his shoulder. The man in front of them didn’t look very scary. Not until he pulled a gun on them. “Money,” he said, voice low and gruff. Eyes widened in alarm. Desperate. Fingers twitching around the handle of the gun.

“Here, you can have it,” Thomas Wayne said, reaching into his jacket and slowly pulling out his wallet, keeping his other hand up in the air, “we don’t mean you any harm.”

The man quickly grabbed the wallet and stuffed it into his ragged jeans pocket. “Necklace,” he grunted, waving his gun at Bruce’s mother now. Bruce stood rooted in place, feeling weak and _just wrong_ , as Martha Wayne fumbled for the closure. Impatient, the man stepped forward and violently ripped the necklace off.

Bruce didn’t know what tipped the man off in that moment. Whether it was mother’s small scream, father’s automatic protective reaction as he raised his hand towards mother, or simply the pearls hitting the floor, too loud in the quiet, dead alley.

It all happened so fast then, his life crumbling to pieces with the simple movement of a finger. Then his ears were ringing from the loud noise, and he himself was staring down the barrel of the gun. He saw a blackness at the end he had never seen anywhere else, like a hungry, never satisfied black hole. The man threw a dark shadow over him, engulfing his tiny body completely.

Bruce’s only hope in that moment was that this nightmare would be over soon. The man would back away, once again merging with the shadows, back to that black place he had come from.

But the man didn’t back off. Instead, Bruce watched with horror as his face suddenly changed. He had no memory of this face, didn’t recognize it.

“No backing out of this, you hear me?” The gun was finally pulled back, only to be replaced with a weird red helmet, glinting maliciously in the dim light.

No. Bruce recognized that helmet. _It can’t be …_

Suddenly the world was tinted in a reddish hue, as if everything around him had gone up in flames. He could actually _smell_ the smoke. He looked around in panic, but couldn’t spot any fires. He heard someone scream, a high-pitched, desperate scream, and it made his heart twist in his chest. He stumbled forward, trying to reach the source of the sound, but he already knew that he was too late. The invisible flames grew around him, almost suffocating him beneath the red hood.

 _Jeannie_ , he thought. Warmth grew into a blazing inferno, burning away his memories.

Then the red darkness slowly faded, and he saw that he was standing on an industrial catwalk. Bruce knew this place. He looked down, and without doubt, there were the big tanks, filled with the green acid. Only they weren’t green through his hood, but glowing red. Smoke rose from the surface, but instead of the intense heat he had felt before he suddenly was trembling from the cold breeze that wafted around him.

It looked like he was standing above the entrance to hell, with only the flimsy grating protecting him from tumbling down into its endless pits.

An invisible force started pulling him forward, and he shakily took a step, hastily grabbing the railing as the catwalk started to twist in all directions beneath his feet. The railing crumbled beneath his fingers.

Bruce found himself on the floor then, the holes in the grating digging painfully into his hands. He stared down through the holes at the glowing acid, thinking that it would probably be easier to just let go. He could hear screaming coming from below him, tortured souls inviting him to join them.

Maybe he deserved it.

Suddenly something grabbed his shoulder, firm and decided. He looked up, and shrunk back, eyes wide. It was the Devil himself, personally visiting him to drag him down into his realm. Sharp horns protruded from his head, eyes glowing red as he stared down at him. His tattered cape fluttered around his inconsistent form, as if the earthly plane couldn’t quite hold him.

The Devil stretched out his hand towards him. Bruce stumbled backward, somehow on his feet again. No, no, he couldn’t take his hand. He had already made a deal with the Devil, and had paid for it dearly. Bruce couldn’t remember what the prize had been, but he could _feel_ the pain it had caused. He wouldn’t, _couldn’t_ take any more. He was _done_.

His back pushed against the railing behind him, and it easily came away at his touch. The Devil reached out to him one last time, but it was too late. He was falling. Down, all the way down.

“NO!” he heard the Devil scream, probably angry about his lost opportunity.

Only that he had sounded so very human in that moment. Desperate, not angry.

 _As if he cared about my fate_ , Bruce thought as he sunk into the acid, the flames searing his flesh.

 _Batman_ , he heard a voice in his head whisper. Not the Devil, he realized.

“Batman,” the voice said again, louder this time. Disoriented, Bruce tried to open his eyes to identify the source of the voice, but closed them again when the acid burned away his eyes.

“ _Bruce!_ ”

His eyes flew open a second time, and he stared up at his alter ego, worry visible in the radiant blue eyes.

“Had a pleasant trip?” the man in the mask asked, a smirk appearing on his face. He extended his hand to him in invitation. Bruce stared down at it, still shaken from the events he had just witnessed. He remembered them clearly, yet it had felt like stumbling through a nightmare, unable to form any coherent thoughts.

He carefully took the other man’s hand. His own hand, controlled by Joker’s mind, he remembered now.

He always felt a bit disoriented after going through Scarecrow’s toxin-induced hell, but this was way stronger. He was barely able to stay upright as Joker pulled him to his feet. Before his knees could give away, Joker quickly grabbed his arm and slung it around his shoulder, before gently helping him sit down on top of an office desk.

“That bad?” Joker asked, frowning. “What, did you see Johnny in his underwear?” He shuddered. “Creep.”

The thought managed to get a small smile on Bruce’s face, but it was quickly washed away as he thought back to what he had seen.

“No,” he whispered, ignoring Joker’s curious expression. He had seen into Joker’s past, he was sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have absolutely no clue how to chain all the events I have planned together, so here's to hoping that I'll have an epiphany next shower haha-
> 
> Also, [ I'm very sorry](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dQw4w9WgXcQ) for putting you through two anxious backstories at once.
> 
> Cheers!


	12. But beauty's frail and beauty's passing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Five days late still counts as fashionably late, yes?
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> [chapter title: [Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=57eXB-D3XS8) by Ezra Furman]
> 
> !!!  
> EDIT: University is hell again, and I don't think I'll be able to update the next weeks or maybe even months. I don't want to half-ass this story either, so I decided to take a longer break once again ... I'm sorry!! I have the rest of the story pretty much planned out from this point on, and these are the chapters I've been really looking forward to, so I want to make it just right :) I'll still be active then and again on Tumblr, please feel free to chat with me there, I'll try and post some more batjokes pieces too! See you in the future, love y'all <3

“And good riddance,” Joker muttered under his breath as he watched Gordon pushing Scarecrow into the police car. He chuckled, remembering the look on Crane’s face when he hadn’t shown any reaction to his fear toxin. He was also mildly relieved that he still possessed his immunity - which couldn’t be said for Batman.

He glanced to the side. Batman was watching the officers downstairs intently, but Joker could see that he was thinking about something else. He wondered what about. He didn’t know what fear toxin felt like, or what Batman went through just now, but it couldn’t have been fun. He thought back to Batman’s expression when the toxin had kicked in. Nope, not fun at all.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Joker asked, leaning on the windowsill. “Afraid I only got this handsome body of yours to spare though.” He winked.

Batman sighed, watching the police cars drive off until they vanished around a corner. “Just trying to figure out Crane’s lab location,” he said, turning towards Joker.

The clown raised an eyebrow. He was fairly sure that he was lying, or at least not telling him everything. Maybe the Bat had seen something disturbing – well, more disturbing than usual – during his ghost train trip through his past. Which was a personal matter, so Joker decided to let it slide for now.

He sighed. Jeez, since when did he respect Batman’s personal space? Not that he had just a few minutes prior, when he’d snuck close to Batman like so many times before. That action had previously been a guarantee for some heavy bruising, maybe even a broken bone or two, but now …

Now Bruce had reciprocated his actions, had pulled him closer instead of pushing him away violently.

 _Bruce,_ he thought, shaking his head. Just what was he _thinking_? He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to concentrate. But his mind was already going different places, deciding to go sightseeing through his grey matter, pulling up invasive thoughts he’d pushed aside at the time.

 _Were_ these even his thoughts? Or did they belong to the Bat, to _Bruce_ , whispering sweet nothings into his ears so he’d behave? Oh, and _how well he had behaved, such a good boy he’d been. Such a well-trimmed, perfectly fitting piece in the grand puzzle._

Sofia’s words from a few days before ran through his mind again, words he thought not important then. He was still The Joker, after all, Clown Prince of Crime, arch-nemesis of the Dark Knight, even in another body … another brain.

 _Another mind?_ Joker thought, fingers twitching towards his utility belt. _But what if I never realized that I’m not … that I’ve … lost myself. What if …?_

 _God, I need to shoot something_ , he thought, pulling the tranquilizer gun from his belt. He’d taken it from Scarecrow when he’d tied him up – _arrested him for fuck’s sake; who was he, a damn cop? –_ the dose of toxin still loaded into the barrel. Joker took aim at someone – _just give me a target –_ and pressed down at the trigger, pushing against that slight resistance, just these few inches between a normal life and a life spent in an asylum for the insane should the toxin do its job-

“ _Joker!_ ” But it was too late, he had reached the point of no return and the toxic dart was soaring through the air-

Missing his target by a few inches. Then Batman was on top of him, pulling the rifle from his hands. Joker wanted to laugh, but his laugh didn’t sound right, didn’t _feel_ right, so he stopped and just stared up at the angry face above him. A face that looked more disappointed than angry for some reason.

* * *

Bruce didn’t understand. Things had been going so well between them. Next thing he knew, Joker had pulled out Scarecrow’s rifle and had almost ruined the life of one of the GCPD officers downstairs. Just like that.

“ _Why?_ ”, he asked, staring down at Joker. Had he said something to trip him off? Done something wrong? He could think of plenty of scenarios from the past, but nothing that would’ve explained Joker’s sudden shift just at this moment.

“Why not?” Joker answered, but he had tilted his head to the side so he wouldn’t have to look at Bruce anymore. His mouth twitched at the corners as if it was fighting a war with itself, trying to decide whether to laugh or frown. Otherwise, he was completely still, not even trying to shift away from Bruce’s weight.

Carefully, Bruce stood up, the rifle still in his hands. It was empty now, but he still dismantled the modified weapon and dropped the separate parts to the floor, just to be sure. Meanwhile, Joker had propped himself up on one arm, his eyes still evading Bruce.

“That’s just the thing,” Bruce responded after the last piece had hit the floor with a small metallic sound. “Why _now_?” He thought he’d finally started to understand the clown. He should be understanding him by now, between their talks and him actually _being_ Joker from the inside out.

But Joker just shook his head, his hands kneading the dirty white carpet he was sitting on. Maybe Joker didn’t even understand himself.

Bruce let out a long sigh. Now that the adrenaline rush had subsided, his head had started pounding again with a heavy migraine, a less dangerous, but still bothersome side effect of Crane’s toxin.

“Will I have to handcuff you next time?” Bruce asked. That’s the best he could do for Joker now; ask. He knew that the right choice, the sane choice would be to put Joker in chains again as soon as he had the chance to; he’d obviously overestimated the stability of their truce. But on the other hand, he was still hanging onto that small flicker of hope that had been ignited just an hour ago, when Joker had revealed that he wanted to quit.

 _To change_ , the hopeful voice in his head sang. Bruce wouldn’t, couldn’t let this opportunity just slide when neither of them had really tried yet. That was one thing that bothered him.

The other thing was that Joker had missed his target, despite having enough time to aim. Bruce had his back turned to him when he had pulled out the gun and had only been able to react after he had heard the weapon going off behind him. Maybe Joker was just not such a good shot in Bruce’s body like he was on his own. Maybe it was something else.

“Is that a trick question?” Joker asked, a shimmer of amusement lighting up his eyes again.

“Not if you don’t want it to be,” Bruce answered, and he meant it.

Joker looked up at him, studying him carefully, soaking up every little reaction. Bruce suppressed the urge to look away from those piercing eyes; he had nothing to hide. At least he liked to think so. “But you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“No,” Bruce replied without thinking about it. No, he didn’t _want_ to lock Joker away. He would if deemed necessary, but he would do it with regret. He’d come to enjoy the clown’s company, he realized.

He extended a hand to Joker. “Come on, we still have to find that neuro-stuff for Cuţov.”

“Well, it can’t be that far, considering that he was here quicker than I expected his stick legs could carry him,” Joker said, accepting Bruce’s offer. He pulled the clown up and gave him a small reassuring squeeze after a brief moment of contemplation. Joker shot him a questioning look, but Bruce was already on his way to the staircase.

“You think Crane’s raised his own flock of crows to carry him around? Would explain how he got here so fast,” Joker said as they reached the outer hallway. “Hm, no, that would have too much style for ol’ Bag Face.”

Bruce rolled his eyes at the lame joke, but felt relieved that Joker had apparently made a quick recovery from whatever had gotten into him earlier. “I don’t think he even left the building. This place is too good to give up so easily,” Bruce commented, deciding whether to try up- or downstairs first. “Besides, if Cuţov knew about his location, he was probably suspecting for her to return sooner or later. By staying close he could keep tabs on her easier.”

“She could’ve given the cops an anonymous tip about the lab location anytime though. Crane’s always been a party-pooper, he’d rather move a hundred times than live the risky life,” Joker added, sliding down the staircase railing beside Bruce. When he reached the end, he twirled around on one heel, surprisingly graceful for a man in an unaccustomed body. “Unless!” he exclaimed dramatically, looking up at Bruce expectantly.

“Unless Dr. Crane knew she’d need some of his chemicals for her own research,” Bruce finished, nodding.

* * *

They arrived at Sofia’s place an hour later. Bruce had parked the car in the same spot as before; he’d sent Sofia a short notice beforehand. She answered the door right after the first ring of the doorbell, almost bouncing on her feet with impatience.

“Impeccable timing” she smiled, already waving them inside. Sofia closed the door behind them and hurried over to a small table in the middle of the room. Bruce’s eyebrows lifted slightly as he took the rest of the room in. The entire place had completely changed from the last time they had been here; everything had been used as some sort of place holder for her research. Sticky notes were plastered across the walls, sheets of paper covered every surface available, and the floor had become a library for old science books.

“I’ve made a lot of progress yesterday, I’m sure I can put Crane’s F-34R to good use,” Sofia said, quickly pushing her research notes on her bed aside before Joker could crinkle them beneath him. Bruce carefully made his way around an unsteady looking stack of medical books to lean against the kitchen counter.

“I’m sure you can,” Joker said, leaning back on his elbows, creasing a poster depicting a brain before Sofia managed to save it. She furrowed her brow at him, stopping her futile attempt to bring order into the chaos. “What do you mean?” She turned to Bruce when Joker just gave her a shrug, a confused look on her face. “You … do have the substance, right?”

Bruce narrowed her eyes at her. “We got it, yes.”

Sofia’s sighed with relief. “Great! I’m sure I can-”

“But that’s not the only thing we found,” Bruce interrupted her, nodding towards Joker. The clown smirked, pulling out a small piece of paper from his belt, slowly unfolding it. “Well, would you look at that!” Joker exclaimed in fake surprise. “Looks like an order for … what do we have here … twenty beakers, something something acetic anhydride … hmm … oh! There we go. Signed by one …” he looked up, cocking his head to the side. “Dr. Sofia Cuţov.”

Sofia’s face turned about the same color as Bruce’s current skin. “You worked for Scarecrow, didn’t you?” Bruce said, crossing his arms.

“I can explain,” Sofia quickly said, raising her hands in defeat.

Bruce exchanged a quick look with Joker, raising his eyebrows. The clown shrugged. “Well, this better be good,” he said, leaning forward again.

“Right. I better start at the beginning,” Sofia sighed, putting the stack of paper she held in her hands down. “I’ve only been in Gotham for a few months now. I used to work in a lab in Phoenix, me as the lead researcher and a team of other top researchers. We made a lot of progress together … until we hit a wall. Ethics.”

“I don’t see the problem,” Joker chuckled. Bruce suppressed rolling his eyes.

Sofia smiled sadly at him. “Well, me neither, although I should have. We … had developed a theory and a method. A theory of a substance – Plasticite - that could increase the plasticity of someone’s brain to the point that we could apply our method of changing the actual structure of the brain. Which resulted in three problems.”

“One,” she counted with her fingers, “we had no clue how we’d actually synthesize Plasticite. Two, we wouldn’t be able to change the structure of the brain without a reference. We could only _copy_ another brain, and, well, switch two minds, if you want to say it like that.”

“And the third problem?” Bruce asked.

Sofia gnawed at her lip. “Well, that’s what shut the whole process down. We presented our research goals to an ethics committee, which … well, y’know.” She shrugged. “My colleagues wanted to try and appeal. They wanted to continue the research in a different direction and completely abandon any experiments with human subjects. Which would either lead us nowhere or take many years to reach anything valuable.”

“So, you abandoned them?” Joker asked. He had gotten up while Sofia had told her story and had slowly made his way over to Bruce. Now, he grabbed an apple from a bowl on top of the kitchen counter behind Bruce and settled in beside him, his arm brushing Bruce’s every time he took a bite out of the fruit.

“I guess so,” Sofia replied, resting her head on her hand. “Well, long story short, I decided to search for the Plasticite myself, so that I could test the theory my team and I had worked out. And for that, I needed … privacy. A place where a rogue scientist wouldn’t gather too much attention.”

“It’s almost like the criminals all over the world are flocking together in Gotham for a reason,” Joker commented, nudging Bruce in the side. He shot him a glare, but Joker only winked at him. This time he allowed himself to roll his eyes, before bringing his attention back to Sofia. “So how did you end up working for Scarecrow?”

Sofia shook her head. “I was naïve. I needed an expert in chemistry to help me search, but I couldn’t ask any public scientist. Which is how I ended up contacting Crane. I thought … I don’t know. He seemed genuinely interested and approving of my research, and after a few talks, he said he’d help me with my research. Everything worked out and I was making great progress, until …,” she shuddered. “Until I stayed too long one night. I thought I finally had a break-through in my research, so I worked longer than usual. That’s when I heard the screams one floor down.” Her expression became empty as she remembered.

“Oh, phew. I thought we were heading in a different direction for a second there,” Joker said, mimicking Sofia’s shudder.

To Bruce’s surprise, Sofia blinked a few times and then started laughing. “Oh, no, I really don’t do that sort of thing. I’m perfectly happy being married to my research, thank you,” she smiled, pushing a loose strand of her dark hair back behind her ear. “Anyway, to bring this to an end, I managed to finally synthesize the substance with Crane’s notes in secret, and then I got the hell out of there,” she finished.

Bruce pulled out the vial of the yellow, shimmering substance they had recovered from Scarecrow’s lab. He rolled it around in his hand, narrowing his eyes as he studied Sofia carefully. She hadn’t told them everything from the start, but he could tell that she wasn’t lying to them either. She was still trying to get them to trust her, and he understood that telling them that she was Scarecrow’s ex-partner-in-crime wasn’t the best story to start building trust. But why was she trying to gain their trust? Did she have some superior goal he simply hadn’t identified yet? Or was she genuinely trying to right her wrongs?

Bruce slowly placed the vial on a free spot on her table. “I’m not sure I’m convinced, but I don’t think we have another option.”

As Sofia inspected the vial, Joker grabbed another piece of fruit from the bowl – an avocado this time. He’d basically inhaled the apple before, but now he was hesitant. Bruce watched him from the corner of his eye as he inspected the dark green egg in his hand.

 _It must be nice to finally be able to taste something again_ , Bruce thought, a small smile spreading over his face. Joker looked absolutely fascinated by the avocado as if he’d never held one in his hand before. Maybe he never had. A logical conclusion would be that Joker had been poor before the incident at Ace Chemicals, since avocados weren't exactly cheap.

Bruce’s eyes widened slightly as Joker shrugged, about to simply bite into the fruit. He quickly grabbed it from him and put it back in the bowl, ignoring the glare burrowing into him. “I’ll get you one later,” he whispered. Maybe Alfred could pick up a few other exotic fruits too.

* * *

Muffled voices percolated through the heavy wooden door to the kitchen into the hallway. Bruce extended an arm behind him to halt Joker following him. He glanced over his shoulder, giving the clown a questioning look. “Any idea who our guest is?” Bruce asked. Alfred had sent them a short message on their way back home to the Manor, advising them to best change into “presentable attire”.

Joker shrugged and pulled a hand through his short hair, which had been pressed flat to his head by the mask. He then continued to rub one eye, probably tired from the long night they had behind them. When he pulled his hand away, a dark smear appeared under his eye, making him look even more exhausted. Bruce silently pointed at the spot Joker had missed when cleaning up the black shoe polish Bruce usually put around his eyes when wearing the cowl.

Joker quickly rubbed at the spot, only making it worse. Before he could pull up his sleeve to make a complete mess out of himself, Bruce impatiently swatted Joker’s hand away. Then he carefully pressed his thumb to the clown’s cheek, getting rid of the paint in a few short strokes.

He let his fingers linger on the other man’s skin a while longer, marveling at the sensitivity in the tips. They both always wore gloves when fighting, still, Bruce’s hands were rough and calloused from his training. Joker’s hands on the other side were soft, or at least softer than they should’ve been for a man that had taken the lives of so many others with the very same.

“Someone’s being very thorough,” Joker teased, leaning slightly into Bruce’s touch.

Bruce blinked before he quickly pulled his hand away. “You can never be too careful,” he said, hoping that Joker wasn’t prone to blushing, although he could feel the heat rising up in his cheeks.

Joker raised his eyebrows knowingly, surely about to let Bruce know that he thought quite the opposite when the door suddenly creaked open. “Master Bruce! And … Mr. Joker. I’m glad you could join us. There are a few matters we need to discuss.”

 _Us?_ Bruce thought, turning around to Alfred. His butler gave a short nod to the side. Bruce spotted the tip of a shoe, while the rest of the person sitting on one of the kitchen chairs remained obscured by the door frame. He took a step further into the room and froze.

“Doc?” he asked, surprised. Not that he was shocked to see Webber again; he had expected him to return sooner or later. Just rather later than this soon. It had been, what, five, maybe six days since he’d spoken to them. God, it had been less than a week since he’d woken up in Joker’s body. With all the stuff that had been happening, it should’ve felt like a short time. It couldn’t end quickly enough for Bruce. At least he’d been telling himself that.

“Mornin’, boss,” Webber said and gave him a little wave. The sleeve of his pullover slid down, revealing a bandage wrapped around his arm. Upon taking a closer look, Bruce spotted several other injuries, scratches on his face and hands, hair slightly disheveled instead of neatly slicked back on his scalp. And … wasn’t that pullover from Bruce’s closet?

“Rough night?” Bruce asked, pulling back a chair from the kitchen table to sit down.

“Should’ve seen the other one,” Webber chuckled, before wincing slightly, one hand hovering over his side protectively. More injuries under the clothing then.

“Alfred can pack quite the punch,” Joker commented, following Bruce to put one of his hands on the backrest of the chair, while the other one found its place on Bruce’s shoulder. Bruce could see Alfred’s eyes shortly flickering over in their direction, but his face didn’t display any further reaction.

Webber let out a short laugh. “Oh, I know. We’ve been exchanging war stories, and this man’s someone you shouldn’t mess with,” he said, giving a short nod in Alfred’s direction.

Bruce couldn’t help but shoot Alfred a surprised look. It almost sounded like the two of them were on friendly terms. Exchanging war stories? Webber wasn’t one to brag about his past. Bruce had done some research one Joker’s henchman after he’d gotten back to the Manor and had found only the tiniest bits and pieces about who this man had been before coming to Gotham. True, it hadn’t been the most thorough search, but it was evident that someone wanted to keep Webber’s past secret. Maybe Alfred just had that effect on people.

“But that’s not why you’re here, is it?” Bruce inquired. “Unless you also acted those war stories out, from the looks of it,” he added, reminding himself that he should at least make an effort to throw a joke or two in there.

Achieving quite the opposite effect, Webber’s smile started to fade from his face until it was replaced by a frown. “No, that’s not why I’m here.” He let out a long, calming breath. Joker’s fingers started tapping a random, restless pattern on Bruce's shoulder. “I know it won’t change anything, but first of all I’m … I’m sorry,” he finally said. Webber’s hand went up on his chest, probably to fumble at his non-existing bow tie. When he couldn’t find it, he awkwardly let it sink under the table again.

Bruce thought at first that Doc was scared of his boss. But when Webber looked at him, at Joker, he couldn’t see a hint of fear in his eyes. No, he wasn’t scared of Joker; he was scared _for_ Joker.

“Our quarters were taken apart by Penguin’s men,” he said. Joker’s hand stopped its movements. “We … weren’t prepared. I wasn’t prepared. They raided the whole damn place. Everyone that didn’t pledge their loyalty to Penguin was killed by those that had surrendered. _The first test_ , they called it. _Bastards_ ,” he spat.

Joker’s hand had started to dig deeper and deeper into Bruce’s shoulder, but he didn’t shrug it off.

“I was lucky to get away. I … I should’ve done more-,” Webber said, gritting his teeth.

“Without you there would’ve been no one left to tell,” Alfred interrupted, giving him a short pat on the back.

An oppressive silence settled over the room as the words sunk in.

“No one?” Joker repeated quietly. Bruce turned slightly to get a better look at Joker’s face. His expression was stone-faced, but Bruce could see the flood of emotions bubbling beneath the skin. Bruce was glad that Doc was currently looking at the floor, or Joker’s eyes would’ve surely burned right through his.

Webber shook his head, slowly. “No one. They were thorough, even got rid of the boys in the warehouses. We’re the only ones left, boss.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's been a bit shorter than usual, sorry! The next two chaps should be fun though, if everything works out like I've imagined it (which it never does, let's be honest here fellow writers).
> 
> Hey, half-year anniversary! Thank you all for your on-going support and love, it's so so so much appreciated. Love y'all, stay fabulous lads!
> 
> Cheers! <3


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